


Nightfall

by Snowpiercer



Series: Afternoon [2]
Category: Dunkirk (2017)
Genre: Air Force, Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Flashbacks, Long-Distance Relationship, Love, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Prisoner of War, Smut, War, Wartime Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-23
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:09:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 29
Words: 86,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23277616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snowpiercer/pseuds/Snowpiercer
Summary: War has begun.
Relationships: Collins/Farrier (Dunkirk)
Series: Afternoon [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1514585
Comments: 113
Kudos: 70





	1. September 3rd, 1939

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're back! To be honest all that happened in the short break between finishing part 1 and now, COVID-19 got more intense so I hope all of you are staying safe and healthy. Prepare for a whole lot of angst, which is very on-brand of me.  
> It's good to be back again.

Morning had arrived. Farrier was up at 0600 with a cup of coffee, something he was strangely beginning to enjoy. He was down in his office finding something, anything, to do in order to stop his mind wandering. While most of the base slept peacefully his mind raced, the longer there was no word on anything the worse it got. In an hour Canfield woke up and after a morning tea or two, realised he wasn’t the first up as he usually was. He heard things shifting about in Farrier’s office and went to investigate.

“What on earth are you doing up?”

“Been up for an hour already.”

“Why?”

Farrier finally stopped, gulping down the last of the coffee.

“My mind wouldn’t shut up, and it still won’t. Every hour we hear nothing from the Ministry, the government, it’s torture. Can’t you feel it too?”

Canfield sat slowly,

“Yes, it’s a waiting game now. I hate it, actually. I may act like there’s nothing going on except reading the paper and drinking tea Tom, but up here,” he pointed to his temple.

“It’s already a warzone.”

Canfield had never really divulged much of how he felt to Farrier, to anyone.

“Is… Are you alright?” Farrier said, putting down the pile of rubbish paper in his hands.

“I’ve learnt to live with it, as you have. I’m sure your monsters are much graver than my own, but you know war changes everyone,”

“I, yeah. I know.”

Canfield let him keep cleaning, Farrier obviously didn’t want to stop doing anything. Instead the man went to see Parker, give him his morning feed.

“I wish you didn’t have to see the future, boy,” Canfield said softly. He knew Britain wouldn’t hold off for long. They had an agreement with Poland, there was nothing else for it. At least the dog couldn’t understand politics.

It was a beautifully clear autumn day, the air was cool but not unpleasant. It was too quiet on the streets. As Canfield walked outside and stood on the front steps, he could feel it in the air.

This was the last of the peace.

A while later most of the pilots began to rouse from their sleep, and the usual morning buzz at the airbase took place. There was shuffling through the kitchen and a desperate scramble to get to the teabags and mugs.

“Another morning we must count our blessings,” Dawson remarked.

“Aye. It’s worrying though, how calm everything is, don’t ye think?”

Dawson laughed, for the first time it sounded hollow.

“Don’t say that mate.”

If nothing else, it was that sentence alone that instilled worry in Collins’ mind. He went to see Parker, and saw that someone had already put biscuits in his bowl, the last of them still sitting there around the edge of the bowl where the puppy’s snout couldn’t reach.

“Someone else feed ye, did they?” the blonde laughed as he patted his dog, who as always was ready to play a game.

“Ah, that may have been me,”

He turned to see Canfield walking up to him.

“Mornin’,” Collins said, and finally his instinct told him to stand and salute, even if he had addressed the officer already, finally something was kicking into gear.

“Oh don’t be silly,” Canfield laughed, so the one time Collins thought to act proper he was told not to, evidently some things would never change. Some things.

Neither of them said anything for a while.

“Clear skies today,” Collins remarked.

“Indeed Collins,” Canfield said, bobbing down with a wince to pat Parker.

“Hopefully they stay that way for as long as possible,” he said, his eyes looking directly into Collins’, he wasn’t just talking about the sky. The blonde pursed his lips in agreement but said nothing.

Canfield walked away shortly after that, leaving Collins to ponder the deeper meaning of the man’s words. It was conflicting, the young brash part of him was, in a way, excited. To put his training to use and to come to the aid of a country, but it was dangerous, and he’d had so much exposure to Farrier’s opinions on war there was an awful looming feeling in the blonde’s gut. The only thing grounding him was the dog in front of him, forcing his attention there as he rolled around on his back looking for belly rubs.

“Yer an eejit,” he said as Parker’s tongue lolled out of his mouth, before turning back in the direction of the door, Parker followed and Collins let him inside. He was getting his winter coat, and as well as his ears having well and truly stood up save for the very tips, he was only half a puppy now.

It was a slow morning, none of the officers wanted to take their squadrons up flying until later, everyone was waiting for something, same as the previous day. The commissioned officers figuring if any decision had been reached it might be more likely to hear about it in the morning, thus grounding everyone.

It was at the point that Farrier was just beginning to lighten up, most of the boys who didn’t board had been told they wouldn’t be flying until after lunch and had left base, those who remained including most of the boarders lazed around in 107 squadron’s common room, they enjoyed sitting in one bigger group and getting to know one another rather than being sectioned into their own squadron rooms, no point if only half or less of the squadron was even on base.

“Almost lunch time!” Keith remarked to Farrier. Keith was his wingman, who flew alongside Farrier and Roberts. He wasn’t any older than most of the pilots, but had a relaxed attitude about him that made him fit in with Farrier and the more experienced men. It was that demeanour which Farrier really needed now, he was glad.

“Getting ready to go get your pasty?”

“Sure am,” Keith laughed. On occasion he and Farrier had swapped their opinions on where the best lunch time pastries around the town were.

That was when the radio music suddenly stopped halfway through the song and the voice of the Prime Minister sounded.

_I am speaking to you from the Cabinet Room at 10, Downing Street._

_This morning the British Ambassador in Berlin handed the German Government a final note, stating that unless we heard from them by 11 o'clock, that they were prepared at once to withdraw their troops from Poland, a state of war would exist between us._

Everyone in the entire room was frozen, even the dog could sense the tension and was sitting bolt upright. Collins dared chance a look down to his watch, and his heart sank.

_I have to tell you now that no such undertaking has been received, and that consequently, this country is at war with Germany._

Farrier and Collins’ eyes shot up to each other’s. There was dread in Farrier’s eyes, there was this awful weight to their expression that wasn’t there before. In Collins’ eyes there was blind panic, but there was also the invincible daring of a young man, a look Farrier remembered he once held. Maybe he still did sometimes.

The older man let his eyes drop their gaze, instead fixing on a point in the middle of space. Everyone’s lives had just changed. He was going back to war. These young men were going into conflict. Most of them wouldn’t come back from it.

Chamberlain’s voice droned on, but it was drowned out by shouts and cheers of excitement which filled the room. The men clapped and yelled with joy, exciting Parker to the point that he was jumping and barking too. It left Canfield, Farrier, and Collins sitting still, silently.

“Come on mate!” Dawson said, trying to yank Collins’ arm to get him to stand. He pulled his arm away, trying and failing to listen to most of the message. He heard the last few words, though.

_And now that we have resolved to finish it, I know that you will all play your part with calmness, and courage._

Collins heard the words, and as soon as the message ended he saw Farrier walking very resolutely out of the room.

He got in his car and drove. He didn’t know where he was going but he drove and drove and drove until he was far enough into the countryside that he could break down in relative privacy.

Collins felt scared, Farrier had disappeared to who knew where. War wasn’t on the horizon anymore, it was here. And Farrier wasn’t. He told himself to remember the distress training, keep calm on the outside, compartmentalise everything. Be rational and logical. Don’t think too much.

“What was all that about?” he asked Dawson with a tinge of irritation when things had finally calmed down a little.

“What?”

“You, celebrating as if ye hadn’t told me not to be so ominous just this morning.”

“It’s… It’s a heavy feeling, mate. Of course I’m not completely elated, but if I didn’t jump up and shout, I might just have started panicking instead. If I just acted more excited than I was, I dunno, I thought I could curb how I’m feeling deep down about it.”

“And could you?” Collins asked,

The look in Dawson’s eyes answered clearly enough.

It was an enormous weight that had just been placed on not only Farrier, but all the brave people who would join the war effort. Of course, his immediate reaction was to outright reject the idea that they were currently at war. But, Farrier had a part of him that was loyal to his country, and to those his country stood by. He hated war, anyone who knew Farrier knew that, but there was this feeling he couldn’t shake, one that hadn’t been present before war had been declared.

Duty.

He knew he’d hate it, but part of him remembered how important it was to fly with purpose, how alive he felt. That, and he’d be doing right by his country, saving it even, if it came to that. Farrier still let himself sit back in the driver’s seat, fingers laced atop his head as his eyes watered and tears threatened. But, he pulled himself together. All these months he’d been imagining himself having some huge episode, but nothing came. The man eventually collected his thoughts and turned the car back on.

Not twenty minutes had passed since the radio announcement had ended, when Canfield rushed back into the common room from where he had gone off to his office.

“Air raid sirens over London. I need 102 and 107 in the air now.”

It wasn’t real. It couldn’t be.

A collection of alarmed reactions were heard through the room,

“We’ve got no lead flyer,” Connors said.

“Christ, Farrier. Had to go off and sulk didn’t you. I’ll go up,” Canfield said.

Collins felt detached but at the same time, all too alert of what was going on. They were about to go on a sortie, what were they going to see? Where was Farrier? _Where was Farrier?_

They were halfway into their kits when one of the other officers ran out.

“False alarm!” he yelled repeatedly. The men only just caught what he’d yelled over the wind, and the reaction was one of confusion, but undoubted relief.

“Friendly coming over, false alarm,” he said as Canfield walked back to him off the tarmac, looking angry.

“I think I just had a heart attack,” Dawson laughed to Collins, who managed a breathless nod in agreement, unsure how Dawson was actually laughing. Collins was very quickly realising that he was not ready to go to war. He felt sick in the stomach from adrenaline and had to force himself to breathe deeply just to keep his food down.

He just wanted Farrier back on base. If he was here, Collins felt like maybe he could face a war. With Farrier at his side, maybe he was safe. Collins also worried where Farrier had gone, what he was doing. He knew that man’s head still wasn’t always a safe place and it concerned him.

Some time later the man in question returned.

“Good of you to show your face, Thomas!” Canfield said as the brunette walked back into the older man’s office. His voice was full of annoyance.

“I… Yeah alright. Sorry.”

“Well, not that you would have known, but we had a false alarm. Air raid sirens over London, boys were halfway to the planes when we found out it was a false alarm.”

Farrier just stood there. He hadn’t thought about his actions.

“I didn’t think-“

“No you didn’t Tom, you’re on active duty, in war. You’re a fucking Squadron Leader, you cannot just drive off into the distance when the mood takes you! You have a duty to fulfil to the Crown, to your fellow men, to yourself for goodness’ sake.”

Farrier knew that when Canfield swore, he was in big trouble.

“I’m sorry, Michael. You know my head isn’t always-“

“Farrier. You have to pull yourself together. You have to be here for all these young men. They’ve got no idea. They do not know what they are going into. You do. You think you’d get away with running off whenever you feel like it anywhere else? You wouldn’t, I can tell you that, boy. Do not, under any circumstance, do anything like that again. You are on duty and your duty is here at Gatwick. What if it hadn’t been a false alarm? ‘Oh sorry boys, your lead flyer is off having a sook in his car!’ well you're lucky you're not getting punished for this and it's only because I'm me and you're you that you're not.”

Farrier didn’t have anything to say. He couldn’t imagine it, if it wasn’t a false alarm. He couldn’t imagine getting back to an empty airbase, not seeing Collins before a flight.

“Look Tom. We all knew it was coming. I don’t pretend not to be scared, we’re all worried. But we need to be together now. The Air Force needs to work as one, I need you here. These young lads look up to you, you know,” Canfield sighed and took off his glasses, reading telegrams sent to the airbase regarding new wartime operations.

“I know they do.”

He turned to leave, and for a fleeting second Farrier stopped.

“What?” Canfield said pointedly.

“Nothing.”

Farrier was beginning to wonder if he was fit to serve.

“What?” Canfield asked again.

“I…” Farrier said as he turned back around.

“Am I fit to serve?”

The old man stood up and walked around the desk to him. He laid a hand on Farrier’s shoulder.

“I can’t see inside your head, Tom. But I trust you to make the right call,” he said quietly.

It was indeed up to him to make the right decision, and in the end it was the years after the war, first war, Farrier corrected himself, that made him realise that more than ever, he was mentally fit to serve.

He couldn’t stand not being on duty in his country’s time of need, to serve and protect not only the United Kingdom, but her allies. He remembered the awful feeling of being trapped when he was too injured to fly in the last year or so of the war. It was the memory of that which pushed Farrier to realise that there was no choice, he was going to be a fighter pilot, he would be the man he once was again.

That night Canfield discussed with Farrier the telegrams which had been sent through.

“At the moment, it would be a waste of resources to make the rooms downstairs liveable, which was what needed to be done for us to house four or five squadrons, we would have needed to get rid of the classrooms,” Canfield said.

“So?”

“So, we’re only having two squadrons here, all upstairs rooms will be taken up, the other two squadrons are being moved, because there are other airbases which already have provisions for more men to live onsite.”

“Which two are staying?”

“The original two, yours and Davis’,” Canfield said.

“Well, I need to try and get some sleep,” Farrier eventually said wearily.

“As do I. I am sorry about my anger today. I’m just glad you made the decision to come back,” Canfield said. Farrier looked up from where he’d been staring into the rug.

“I’d always come back. It doesn’t matter if war’s just been declared, if I ever go off for whatever reason, my home is here,” he said quietly. Before Farrier left the room, the two men shared a hug.

It had been a long day, the start of six long years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The war has begun, and I already miss the early days of Afternoon when war was far off and they were still in training planes. Well, we can't go back now. I'm really excited for this next part, and I hope you all are too! I also want to try and list all the real facts I include because I didn't mention a lot in Part 1, leaving it unknown if I'd made them up or not, so, fact: there actually was a false alarm straight after the announcement.
> 
> [ My tumblr ](https://s-n-o-w-p-i-e-r-c-e-r.tumblr.com) (I always make a post when there's a new chapter so check there for updates!)   
> 


	2. Reception

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope everyone is staying safe right now, that you're all doing any distancing you need to in order to be safe and healthy! Happy Monday, friends.

Everything was different now.

Bomber Command had sent Wellingtons over to Wilhelmshaven, the first RAF bombing of the war.

“I’m guessing your birthday wishes are different now,” Canfield said, trying to get Farrier to loosen up as they sat around the common room.

“Sure are.”

Collins sat with Dawson, Turner and Parker in the courtyard. It was cold enough now that their hands were shoved deep into their pockets when not patting the dog, each taking turns to roll the ball around with him.

“Getting feisty,” Turner said,

“Mm,” Collins replied. Nobody had the strength to try and hide the distinct tone of anxiety in their voices.

“I’m glad he’s got no idea what’s going on,” Dawson said.

“I am too, wish we could all be dogs sometimes,” Collins said with an almost smile.

Later that day Collins made a call to his parents.

“Yer so brave, Jack, so brave. But cannae ye come home?” his father asked as Collins stood in the phone box.

“We don’t get holidays now, we have tae apply for leave. I’ll do that, but I can’t confirm anythin’.”

The phone was passed to his mother then, who was considerably more distressed.

“It’s our fault! If we’d never taken you on that joy flight ye’d never be in the RAF now! You’d be at home still, doing the paper rounds!”

“Ma, if ye didn’t pay for that flight I’d be in the army instead. That flight was one of the best things that’s ever happened to me, Ma.”

Collins didn’t want to hang up the phone at all that day, it was hard hearing his parents so stressed, that he couldn’t see them in the flesh. Their relationship may have been strained at times, but he still loved them dearly.

It was strange, a few days went by and nobody hadn’t seen any action. The men were lulled into a strange sense of boredom, at the same time on the edge of their seats.

“Why hasn’t anything happened?” Collins asked Davis.

“Things have, we just personally haven’t received orders. Farrier said that soon we’re starting reconnaissance.”

“How soon?” Collins asked quickly, the back of his mind wondering why Farrier hadn’t told him already.

“Don’t know,” Davis said. They were standing around waiting for Farrier’s squadron to finish in the airspace above Gatwick, waiting to do more G force training.

“I mean, it’s a good thing there’s not much going on. We’re not ready,” Davis said quietly.

“We never will be,” Collins replied without realising he’d even opened his mouth. Davis gave him a look, one that tried to say don’t be like that, but ended up somewhere between sympathy and agreement.

“Davis,”

“Yes?”

“Are you happy on Hurricanes?”

“Of course I am. Aren’t you, Collins?”

“I am, just askin’.”

Davis almost chuckled, his head turning sharply before he could as the Spitfires came in to land.

“Considering how many old planes we could have been placed in, biplanes, half functional fighters, we’ve done extremely well to be graced with these,” he said, placing a hand on the wing of his plane.

Farrier’s squadron landed, their planes snaking up the runway as usual, cockpits pushed back open, ground crew signalling. Farrier jumped out as soon as he’d taxied to the end and walked over to the door of the building where Canfield stood.

“Reception’s open,” the old man said. Farrier didn’t immediately realise why he was being told this.

“Oh,” he said as he realised, halfway through taking his flying gauntlets off. It meant new identity disks.

“When are we going?”

“This afternoon.”

“Both squadrons?”

“And the rest, now let your men know.”

Farrier did, not that many of them knew what it really entailed.

After 102 had done their flight for the day, everyone was off to the reception. It was a factory building, essentially. It was here that identity disks were issued, and now essential parts of the uniform were given.

“So, I guess we’re getting proper kit now,” Dawson said as they sat on the train, various forms of identification clenched in their hands. They’d been given the address and told to get it done today as it would only get busier.

It was north of London, an uncomfortably long train ride, after which everyone was grateful for the walk from the station to the reception centre to stretch their legs.

Collins was amazed at what he saw upon entering the big red brick building. It was huge inside, crude metal shelf upon shelf stacked to the ceiling in uncomfortably narrow aisles, which were covered in bits of uniform from all three branches of the military. The men silently walked through them, they could hear the sounds of working in the distance, machines clunking, people talking. They made their way through the aisles and into a large open area in the middle of the warehouse. Surprisingly, they were the only ‘customers’.

One by one, they reached the counter and gave their identification and stated their rank. Collins’ birth certificate was taken back into the work area, and in the meantime a woman quickly took his basic measurements, then hurried away. She walked back with an armful of kit, most notably including an Irvin flying jacket. Collins took the pile of clothes and went to walk off,

“Ah, wait young laddie!” she said. He stood at the counter for a few more minutes, Dawson behind him. She returned with his birth certificate, and his new identification disks.

She placed both disks, connected with a string atop the pile of clothes, and then the blonde was free to leave the counter. The disks of fibre were staring at him, his details freshly pressed into them. Name, service number, rank. A whole person reduced to a few lines of information.

It was another solemn night back at Gatwick base. Nobody knew what to do with themselves, not the new pilots, not the older Commissioned Officers. Not even the dog.

Wingnut was gearing up as Collins and Dawson sat in their bedrooms. His first flight of the war and he felt numb. Probably less scared than he should have felt. He and his squadron were using the cover of night to do a leaflet drop. After all the training, Timson wasn’t a pilot, he was the navigator, apparently finally having got the hang of navigation. Tonight he’d also be dropping the leaflets. He was glad though, the feeling of a bomber was much more to his liking than fighters, he always felt too exposed and light in those.

The Blenheims roared to life, the low rumble of their engines filling the night where before there had been a chilling silence. The crew of three strapped in and sat tight as they rolled down the runway and took off into the night. After all the necessary checks, there was radio silence.

“Come on lads, say something will you?” the pilot, Phillips, urged. He didn’t think he’d be flying into war this soon.

“Alright then. What’s black, white, and read all over?” Wingnut asked, earning a groans.

“Do tell,”

“Our confetti!” he said, earning more groans. Wingnut laughed, but it was hollow.

“Be careful with your words! Let’s not fly in silence, but c’mon lads,” Came Phillips’ irritated voice. He was scared, they all were, and sometimes Timson got a bit ahead of himself. The brunette hadn’t meant to make a joke at all, he’d just started talking, he’d much less tried to make a joke that might possibly give away information if the wrong ears were listening. Part of him wished he was back at Gatwick, training in planes he wasn’t altogether fond of but with the two best people he’d ever met. The engines roared over the skies as Wingnut sat with the map on his knee. He reminded himself that this was what he’d trained for. Defending his country and her allies was what he'd been preparing for this whole time. They’d be dropping the leaflets over the Ruhr tonight, so when they neared, he spoke through the headset advising everyone.

“Cloud cover below,” Phillips said,

“Advise to lower altitude?” he asked. Phillips wasn’t used to being a leader at all and that was what he was supposed to be.

“I don’t think so. Drop em’ through, I know where we are roughly.” Wingnut said, the cloud was hanging low anyway, they weren’t that high up. After the word, he opened let the bomb bay open, and thousands of pieces of paper littered the dark skies, floating down below the aircraft towards the cloud, which was already half dispersed, offering a few glimpses down to the ground. It was strange and beautiful to watch.

“Off a little,” Phillips said, of their location.

“Well, they should spread enough,” Timson said, voice weak. Navigation wasn’t easy at night, and even less so with cloud cover. In his mind, he’d done alright.

Farrier wandered into his squadron’s common room quietly. Most of the men at base were out at the pub, whether that meant celebrating or drinking to forget, Farrier didn’t care. There was nobody in the room, the only others the brunette even knew were on base were Collins, Dawson, Canfield and three ground crew members which he’d spotted out near the hangars having a smoke, which wasn’t a half bad idea.

Dawson and Collins were sitting in the courtyard, Farrier wondered if they were cold. They were playing with the dog, which the man knew took precedence over body temperature half the time. Farrier sat for a while, blackout curtains pulled tightly shut, before realising those three ground crew weren’t meant to be smoking outside. The entire nation was in a blackout. Farrier trudged outside, not really in the mood to tell people off. The three saluted as he walked towards them, Farrier forced himself to do the same when he reached them.

“Men, I hate to be the one to tell you this, but if you want to smoke, do it inside. Blackout, remember?”

That scared some sense into them, all quickly dropping the cigarettes on the ground and squashing them, muttering apologies. Farrier almost laughed, and would have if it weren’t for the circumstances they were in. He went back inside and realised- he hadn’t even thought about drinking. It was so unlike him, especially considering there was now a bloody war on. The child in him thought he ought to tell Canfield, so he walked upstairs to the man’s room, where he knew he was reading. He knocked and upon getting an answer, went in to see Canfield in bed.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“Oh, nothing. Actually, I just wanted to tell you that I’m proud of myself,” Farrier said.

Canfield closed his book with a bemused smile.

“I hadn’t even thought about drinking.”

“Oh, Tom that is something to be proud of!” Canfield said, about to get out of bed.

“Ah, no stay in your bed, I just wanted to say,” Farrier muttered.

“Well, I’m very happy to hear. And, I’m happy to hear that you felt like telling me,” Canfield smiled.

Farrier left before it could get too heartfelt. In the end, he would always crave the fatherly approval that he never really got from his own dad.

When he got back into his own room, someone was in it already.

“Don’t worry, nobody saw.”

Farrier shut the door and turned the key in the hole just to be safe.

“So, how ye feeling?”

Collins wasn’t in here because he’d wandered in of his own accord. It had actually been Dawson, who had told him to check up on Farrier. Dawson was slowly getting used to the idea, and after hearing that whatever things Farrier had told Collins were getting to his friend, he had some sort of idea that Farrier wasn’t the impenetrable wall that he put forward.

“I’m… Actually alright,” Farrier said quietly.

“Got a bit of an earful on Sunday from Canfield about not running off to go sulk,” he chuckled, the blonde’s dimples appeared on his cheeks as he smiled softly.

The two sat propped up in bed together, silently holding hands under the sheets.

“Thought war would mean we would do more,” Collins said quietly.

“Yeah,” Farrier said, letting it out with a huff like he’d been waiting for someone to say that so he could agree.

“I know we’re going up for reconnaissance soon, but even that isn’t… As bad,”

“Davis told me we were doing that soon too, but how soon?” Collins pressed.

“I don’t know for certain. Next few days I should think, but it depends on a lot. We have to wait for the word to be passed down the line to us, weather, enemy actions, all matters.”

Collins went quiet after hearing the first concrete answer about it; probably a few days.

“It’s alright, it’s normal to be afraid,” Farrier said.

“I know, but I still feel like I shouldn’t be.”

“Put it this way. You’ll get used to it. And, you’ve been trained for this, you know what to do if you encounter the enemy, you know what to do if you run into flak,” Farrier said.

“But do we? It’ll be a first. What if the training isn’t right and it doesn’t help?”

“It will. Even if the tactics don’t work, you’ve had plenty more training than I did when I went to war… When… When I went to the first war,” Farrier stuttered. Collins rubbed a hand up the man’s back, then resting his cheek on Farrier’s shoulder.

“We just have to get used to it now,” Farrier said quietly.

“If that’s possible,” Collins mumbled.

“In a way it is, at least for me. You get used to the idea that any given morning an officer’ll knock on your door and get you up for a sortie. You learn not to think too much on anything, I guess.”

Collins considered what it would be like to get used to living in a war. He thought of the shopkeepers and civilians, for them it would have to be business as usual, or as usual as they could make it given the circumstances. He tried to think that it shouldn’t be any different for him, although shopkeepers weren’t flying up to meet the enemy in the flesh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After nearing 100 chapters on Afternoon, it's weird uploading only number 2 now. Fact: the reception was where military personnel got their tags and kit (there were several receptions around the UK). Fact: The Phoney War was an extremely quiet period for the RAF, and quite a few days they did not see any action.  
> Thank you all for reading!! I hope you enjoyed this one.  
> [ My Tumblr ](https://s-n-o-w-p-i-e-r-c-e-r.tumblr.com)  
> [ Afternoon pinboard ](https://www.pinterest.com.au/Snovvpiercer/afternoon/)
> 
> Until next week ❤️


	3. The First Flap

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Monday everyone, I hope you are all staying safe. The first touch of war action comes today with the first flap of the bird's wings.

“0600 hours, pilot!” Came the loud voice on the other side of Collins’ door, it took him a moment to realise it was Davis. His legs got to work and Collins was standing before he realised it. When he peered through his doorway, Davis had already moved down the hall and was waking others.

“What are we doing?”

“Going up! Get downstairs and have some food, quickly.”

This was it.

The blonde got dressed faster than he ever had in his life and jogged downstairs. He was too nervous to eat, but Davis had told him to, so Collins forced himself to make a small breakfast. Soon after, Dawson joined him and the rest of their squadron trickled into the kitchen within the next few minutes. Within three quarters of an hour they were ready to fly. Farrier and Canfield were already out on the tarmac along with all the ground crew. Davis briefed the men of 102 as they stood on the runway.

“Reconnaissance. You all know what to expect and how to react. Go over, we’ll orbit around Dusseldorf and Dortmund, observe, then fill up tank in France at Reims, then return. I need you all to be your best. Listen to my word, do not speak needlessly about sensitive topics, and… You all know what you’re doing, I think I’ll stop babying you now,” Davis said.

“Are not both squadrons going over?” Turner asked.

“No. They only vectored one. More Hurricanes than Spitfires exist and well, if we get into a spot of trouble they’d rather it not be the plane that takes longer to make and is scarcer that gets shot at,” he said bluntly.

Farrier’s eyes were trained on Collins as he walked to his plane, and when the blonde gave a sweeping look over his shoulder to Farrier, he knew it was what they’d agreed. A moment. It was fleeting enough that nobody would comment, but Farrier knew what it meant. He knew the weight it held.

The roar of the planes’ engines almost sounded louder today, somehow. It was nerve wracking to say the least, especially that Collins’ squadron was first. He wouldn’t be able to listen to Farrier talk about how fine and simple and safe it had been. Collins hoped that all his training didn’t disappear as soon as they were in the air. He kept telling himself that they wouldn’t see any enemies, it was a quick skip across to the mainland and back. It was a reconnaissance flight. They all had been given a small clipboard with a map, Davis was the only one who really needed to actively be looking at it, but it was a precaution that everyone had one with them, and a grease pencil too.

Collins sat in his plane listening to the others’ around him start up. He took three slow breaths. The brass button on the control column was bright against the dark handle, and the word _fire_ was staring at him.

 _Don’t freeze,_ Farrier thought, watching as the other Hurricanes started up but Collins’ didn’t. After a few more worrying moments, his too roared to life. Not only had the squadron never flown in war yet, they’d never flown anywhere except over the greater Gatwick area. They moved slowly up the runway, and one by one, 102nd took off over the fields. The first few moments of the flight were alright, it almost felt like normal, like maybe they’d just get up to altitude and do more training. The point at which it began to feel bad to Collins was when they flew out over the channel, the land disappearing beneath them replaced with dark water. He felt vulnerable, and suddenly the snug comfort of his cockpit began to feel very small and ill-protected indeed.

“Tighten up, men!” came Davis’ voice, bringing Collins’ thoughts back from the water underneath them. He adjusted his plane, checking gauges as he went, out of habit more than anything, which was probably a good thing. When the European mainland drew nearer underneath them, the radio silence was broken.

“Tannol Blue Leader this is Tannol Red 2, how much longer?”

“Tannol Red 2 this is Tannol Blue Leader, not long now chaps,” Davis said, Collins could tell the man was apprehensive to say an exact time, might give something away, the blonde hated that there might be ears listening to them without realising, it was scary.

“Wonder how far they are now,” Canfield wondered over tea in his office with Farrier.

“I’d guess over Belgium maybe,” the man suggested, earning a hum of agreement from Canfield. It was hard for Farrier not to express his worry over the squadron any more than seemed necessary, but his stomach was churning at the thought that Collins was flying out over enemy territory, and that he wasn’t right there beside him. Farrier hadn’t realised how difficult it would be not to be in the same squadron.

“At least your lot will probably get some notice, bit much to have to wake them all up like that today,” Canfield said.

“Mm, though at least 102 won’t have a whole day sitting around anxiously, they’ll be home safe and relieved soon enough,” Farrier said, reinforcing it in his own mind just as much as saying it to contribute to the conversation.

“Very true. Let’s hope they don’t run into flak or worse,” Canfield said. He’d only meant it as an offhand comment, though as with a decent amount of things he said, it rubbed Farrier the wrong way to think about that happening.

A few minutes had passed in the air before they were told to start observing, that they were in the right place now. Collins looked down over his wing, to what he could see below. Not much out of the ordinary seemed to be going on, nothing in fact. Collins didn’t know what he’d expected to see, maybe some bomb damage, but one sharp-eyed lad did spot an airfield.

“Tannol Blue Leader this is Tannol Yellow 3, do you copy?”

“Tannol Blue Leader here, yes I copy Yellow 3. What’s your vision?”

“I spot an airbase, Blue Leader. I’ve marked it on my map.”

“Excellent spotting. We’ll do an arc and then we need to get back, everyone check fuel, should have around 60 gallons.”

Sure enough, everyone did, and went about reporting to make sure not only for the sake of it, but also that the radio was in good working order.

A few minutes went by and everything was silent, save for the drum of the engines in the men’s ears. Everything was perfectly still.

Then right in front of Davis, an explosion of black smoke.

“Flak! BREAK!” he yelled through the headsets, everyone broke off in a different direction and Collins’ heart jumped into his throat as he pulled hard on the controls. The plane swooped off to the side away from the rapidly dispersing group, and it was a good thing that he levelled off when he did because another black plume appeared to his left where the Hurricane would have flown had Collins kept breaking further away.

“Climb higher, Tannol!” came Davis’ voice. Collins turned his head slowly and saw everyone rise above him, his movements were sluggish and somehow, nothing seemed real.

“Green 2, now!”

It was Dawson’s voice now, ringing loudly through Collins’ ears. He looked up at the miniscule rear-view mirror stuck to the top of the canopy, and saw more puffs of black smoke appear behind him.

“Now!” Dawson yelled. Collins shook his head to try and regain some sense of reality, and it was one more bang of black that came out of nowhere right next to the wing of his plane that finally shook him to his senses.

 _Don’t freeze,_ he muttered to himself. He pulled the nose as steeply up as he dared, but it wasn’t enough. She was losing speed fast but Collins was too terrified to even out his flying, now that his brain had kicked into gear and as he watched the black plumes of flak appear around his plane and his wingmen slightly safer than him above, there was no way he was pointing the nose even remotely downwards. There was only one thing for it, he’d have to break the wire and go into War Emergency Power on the throttle or else he’d stall out well before getting up to altitude. Farrier did say it was to get away from the enemy, even if he didn’t sound like he’d be using it that way exclusively. So, Collins grabbed the throttle handle and pushed it forwards in its gate hard, until he felt the wire snap and it had a little more give. The entire plane jolted and the engine roared deeply, going into overdrive. It gave Collins the power he needed to reach the squadron, who were now flying through the clouds.

“We’re high enough now, men. Group together, now!” Davis said.

His voice was shaking. They went through the rounds of making sure everyone was okay, but the flight was silent after that. Nobody had expected that. They flew nervously down to where they would refuel at Reims, and Davis got out of the plane but nobody else did. He greeted an RAF officer on the ground and Collins watched as a ground crew officer he didn’t know began to refuel his plane as he sat there. He looked around, the scenery was similar but different to Gatwick. He looked over to Dawson’s plane which was next to his, both men had taken their headgear off while they sat, Dawson had slid his canopy open for some fresh air. Collins decided that was a good idea and followed suit. They shared a look of exhaustion before Dawson closed his eyes and rested his head back, trying not to think about the fact that he’d almost lost Collins just then. Soon, it was time to go again, Davis saluted and got back in his Hurricane. They took off again into the sky, Collins wasn’t sure he was entirely ready, but when the wheels left the earth he was promptly reminded that it didn’t matter. They got up to altitude again, everyone glad not to be over Germany anymore, and soon enough the channel was below them again and now instead of it giving Collins a sense of anxiety, it was a sense of comfort. They were nearly back. When through peaks of the white cloud the Jurassic Coastline appeared below, it was the best sight imaginable. Just to have home soil under his plane was a wonderful thought for Collins, and the rest.

It was as they lost a bit of altitude and flew over the coastline that the blonde’s mind began to realise what had just happened. He’d been shot at. _He’d been shot at._ Someone had been down on the ground manning that AA gun and had been aiming at the whole squadron, and then because of his stupidity, aiming specifically at him. His breath became staggered and as soon as he realised it was getting louder, Collins turned his communication transmitter off, taking a page out of Farrier’s book and disregarding protocol. His eyes were fixed on a point in the sky, unfocused as he took in the gravity of what had just transpired. They flew lower over the farmlands, the blonde shaking himself several times to try and get back into the moment. He tried to regulate his breathing, remember the distress training. Don’t think about it, keep in the moment, nothing matters now except the present. The familiar hills which they’d come to know so well around Gatwick rose up in the distance, and soon Collins was forced to turn his intercom back on for pre-landing checks. They did a large arc over the town of Gatwick, lined up behind each other and spaced out to land down the runway. Collins was lowering his undercarriage before he entirely realised, he hadn’t processed anything anyone had said over the radio, he knew how to do his landing checklist and his hands took care of everything while his mind was vacant. Seeing the ground get nearer and nearer shook him a little and forced the blonde to concentrate properly. He was home, safe, alive. Farrier, Canfield and Parker were all down there too somewhere. He’d get out of the plane and Dawson would walk inside with him as always, maybe they’d even go to the sandwich store to celebrate getting home safe. The plane jolted as the wheels touched the tarmac and as the Hurricane moved along, the nose slowly rose up higher as the tailwheel finally touched down as well. Everyone pushed their canopies open, and arms waved from ground crew, directing the squadron down the runway to a safe stop. Once the engines were all off, Collins couldn’t bring himself to get out of his seat. He was still frozen.

“Boy started late, and he’s getting out late!” Canfield murmured, he could see perfectly clearly whose plane it was with the canopy pushed back and the man’s oxygen mask having been removed already.

“I hope he’s alright,” Farrier said, not holding back the heavy worry in his voice.

Davis came walking over, worry lines on his usually relaxed face.

“Everything alright?” Canfield asked Davis, behind the lead flyer Collins finally, gingerly getting out of the cockpit and sliding down on the wing of the plane. Dawson was waiting at his side, and Farrier watched the men walk off together, Dawson putting an arm around Collins’ shoulders for a second, patting his back. Collins had a strange, vacant expression on his face that for one reason or another terrified Farrier.

“Flak,” came Davis’ answer to Canfield’s question.

“Lord, how low down were you?” Farrier asked.

“Angels one-five, close enough that one of the boys pointed out an airbase.”

Farrier huffed. He fought himself internally not to scold Davis, he was flying the squadron at a fine altitude and there was nothing wrong with what he’d done.

“Is he alright?” Canfield pointed to Collins as he walked inside with Dawson.

“He… Yes, we had to pull up higher to get out of the flak and he didn’t do it quite as fast as us. I think he had a bout of nerves,” Davis answered.

“And are you okay?” Canfield asked. Davis hadn’t been expecting that question,

“As okay as one could be, I suppose. Being shot at isn’t all that nice, you know.”

“Oh I do, don’t you worry. I’m glad everyone made it back,” Canfield said, and with that he dismissed Davis.

The two blondes had gone straight to see Parker. It was excruciating not to be able to just collapse into Farrier’s arms and be told that everything was okay, the next best thing for Collins would have to be sitting with his best friend and his dog. As he stroked Parker’s fur, he finally began to calm down properly.

“What happened?” Dawson asked softly after noting the change in Collins’ demeanour, how his breathing had calmed and the hand that wasn’t patting the dog had stopped pulling up the grass. Collins didn’t take his eyes off Parker as he answered,

“I froze.”

Dawson gave him that sad smile, the one that meant he was trying to be supportive but didn’t have the words.

“Well, I’m glad we’re both home, yeah?” he said after a few minutes of listening to the wind around them.

“Mm. I think I’m alright now, just a bit shaken up ye know? Not just that we, well we got shot at, but that I didn’t act properly.”

“Look mate, you got yourself out of there. It doesn’t matter anymore, alright? Nothing matters except you’re home, you’re unharmed, you’re safe now,” Dawson said, patting Parker now too.

“I know. I know. Let’s go to the sandwich store,” Collins said suddenly.

“Can’t argue with that, let’s bring the little rascal,” Dawson smiled. He could tell Collins wasn’t alright yet, and wasn’t sure if he himself was either. He was just glad they hadn’t run into any actual planes, and that they were all back in one piece.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for reading, and thank you all for the comments and kudos, every time I see someone has left kudos or a comment it makes me so so happy to know they enjoy my writing. It's also been brought to my attention that the Rich Text Editor used by ao3 sometimes messes with formatting, especially indents in paragraphs which disappear. If this annoys you, I must apologise but I don't know how to fix it.  
> [ My tumblr ](https://s-n-o-w-p-i-e-r-c-e-r.tumblr.com)  
> [ Afternoon pinterest ](https://www.pinterest.com.au/Snovvpiercer/afternoon/)
> 
> Until next chapter ❤️


	4. A Vector's A Vector

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Monday everyone, I hope everyone who celebrates it had a nice Easter weekend, and that everyone who celebrates it is having a happy Passover, even if the world is very strange right now I hope you are all well.

Collins sat bolt upright next to Farrier in the man’s bed, they held hands tightly and neither said anything for a long time.

“I was shot at,” the blonde mustered. Farrier squeezed his hand, there was nothing he could say to make Collins feel better and anything his mind was thinking of to say would surely make things worse.

“How did you react? When you were first shot at?” Collins asked, blue eyes finally shifting to meet Farrier’s.

“I got a wakeup call, I realised that war was dangerous, I felt the bullet whistle past my head and in that moment, I think I really began to grow up.”

Collins swallowed and lowered his gaze again. He wished he hadn’t asked.

“How was it for you, can I ask?” Farrier didn’t think he’d be curious, but it was something about protectiveness. The blonde’s breaths were short and it almost looked like he wasn’t breathing, completely still.

“Well, the flak started appearing around us and we broke. It was like… Black clouds just bursting next to us, I heard the call to climb but… I froze, I guess seein’ flak explode all around me just took me out of the fight for a second. Before I knew it, everyone was above me up in the clouds and the Ack-Ack guns seemed tae be shootin’ more directly at _my_ plane,” Collins said the entire sentence quietly.

“But, here I am,” he said, forcing a smile.

“Yes. Here you are, and here I am. Here we are together,” Farrier said, trying another squeeze on Collins’ hand to see if it would do anything. It didn’t.

“Pet. It’s okay not to be okay, you know. We’re all hard shells and distress training in the air but, we’re here now. You can be you when you’re with me,” he said softly.

Collins leant his head onto Farrier’s shoulder, golden hair tickling the man’s cheek.

“I know, and I am myself with you,” he said, rolling his head up and resting his chin on Farrier’s shoulder now, finally the beginnings of an actual smile beginning to show.

“I love you,” he said quietly.

“And I love you,” Farrier replied, warmth spreading through his body. Collins moved his head back off of the man’s shoulder and slowly went to stand, muttering something about going to see the dog.

“Well maybe it would be best if you went back to yours after,” Farrier said, though it wasn’t what he wanted to happen. The blonde shrugged in agreement before walking to the door.

“Hey, now. Come back here,” Farrier said, getting up after him and pulling Collins into a tight hug. The blonde was trembling in his arms. It terrified Farrier and he didn’t want to let go in case the Collins he had come to know slipped out of his grip forever. The blonde lulled his head into Farrier’s, cheeks pressing together. Farrier could feel that Collins was tired, he was leaning his weight onto the man more than usual.

“C’mon, love. Go say goodnight to Parker,” Farrier smiled, pulling back his head just enough to look into those blue eyes. Farrier didn’t know what he expected, but a flood of relief filled his body when he saw that they were the same old big blue eyes, still with that look of naivety and peace, even if the man they belonged to was visibly shaken.

“See you tomorrow,” he said quietly, before finally leaving the room to go and see the dog, who at this time of year was about to be moved into one of the old classrooms at night due to the temperatures.

Farrier never thought that maybe Collins would go on a flight in the war before him. So far it had been a pretty strange war, the Phoney War they were calling it, a very apt name. Only Collins’ squadron had gone on a single sortie. It was bizarre that the war was nearly a week old and he hadn’t done anything except sit around with a pit of nerves for a stomach.

The next day was no different, until after lunch.

“107!” Canfield said into the common room, where about half of the men looked up to his voice, the other men not from that squadron but from 102.

“You’ve been vectored to do a reconnaissance flight over southern Germany, 1430 hours you’re up.”

In that moment, Farrier almost envied Canfield for only having to pick up the phone and relay messages. Almost. That was in forty five minutes. His chair was inconspicuously next to Collins’, not that anyone noticed or cared; they were all scattered around the common room. It meant when he stood, Farrier brushed his hand against the blonde’s knee, to anyone else it might look like an accident which neither had even realised had happened, but to them it was the moment they’d agreed on. He trudged upstairs to grab his Irvin and to swap out his blue shirt for a jumper, the weather wasn’t particularly friendly today.

As his squadron walked out to where the Spitfires were being moved into place by ground crew, he took his watch off from his wrist. The one Collins had given him after he lost his old one, with a little green canvas strap and a small face, the man smiled affectionately at it before looping it through his Mae West, so he could look at it easily while flying.

The men climbed up into the cockpits, Collins had wandered outside along with most of the other men and as Farrier quickly glanced over to him he saw more worry in his eyes than he had before he came back from his own sortie. The blonde kept telling himself that he had no reason to be so worried, even his own flight had been easy for the most part, and Farrier had so many years on him in terms of experience. Still, the creeping thought that everything wouldn’t go according to plan was in the back of his head as he watched Farrier disappear into his headgear and then into the cockpit. The blonde had to look away as he heard the sound of the engines start up, he couldn’t bring himself to watch Farrier’s plane disappear into the sky. He walked inside, and sensed Dawson follow him.

“S’alright mate, they’ll be back in a jiffy,” he said to Collins,

“Like we were?”

“Exactly, except none of those men are fresh out of training, remember that.”

Collins swallowed and tried to nod his head in agreement. He felt ill but forced himself to walk upstairs to his room.

It was strange being in the air over Britain, it was the same as training, but Farrier knew it wouldn’t be in a minute or so. He’d checked all his squadron, everyone’s intercoms were working and everything was alright for now. He looked down over the wing of his Spit, down over the green patchwork that was the south of England and all her farms. He could see the blue of the channel ahead, glinting brightly as the sun got closer to the horizon and then before he was altogether ready, he was flying over it. The strange feeling of nerves and alert set in as the ground of home disappeared from under them. They were to do a flyover of an area near where 102 had, return and report back. Nothing more, though they all knew they might meet unfriendly fire.

“How long will they take?”

Again Collins was asking Dawson things that he should have no answer to. To this day he wondered why he looked up to his friend so, yet in other ways saw him as an equal. He was definitely a better pilot, that much could be said.

“Same as us I suppose, think we took around three hours right? Spits are faster though,” Dawson said.

“Must have been three yeah, didn’t feel like longer than an hour though,” Collins said.

They were well over Germany now, and though Spitfires were fast, they couldn’t keep up with the sun as she set to the west. The light was a deep yellow, erring on the side of copper as they flew just below the cloud cover. Farrier felt more relaxed than he’d expected to, it had been a long time since he’d been able to fly over the continent like this, it might have been a war, but he, like every pilot, still had a crazed love for flying.

“Well we can’t see much up here, bit hazy by the looks of it down there. Drop down to angels one-five so we can see what’s going on a bit more,” Farrier instructed, and the squadron followed his plane down. Once everyone had reached the lower altitude, they began to notice the outlines or roads, some details.

“Must be foggy down there, Fortis Leader!” said Keith from Farrier’s starboard.

“Must be, Blue Three. I don’t want to risk going lower, if we don’t see anything of note in the next orbit, 107 we’re getting out of here over to France. Don’t want to be flying around the same airspace for too long.”

They didn’t see anything, and to Farrier’s complete relief they didn’t run into anything on the way out either, the miniature rear-view mirrors filled only with the deep haze of the late afternoon sky as they turned tail and headed for the refuel base.

Collins and Dawson were upstairs in Dawson’s room with the dog, who had been periodically napping as the men talked quietly, sitting cross-legged facing each other on the floorboards, Parker in the middle relishing in pats from two people. Nothing much had been said, quiet news on Dawson’s family back home, that last he’d gone and seen them his dad had been putting the weighted tea tins to good use in the boat, that his brother was still in the book club and that it seemed his friend had been coming to their house most days.

“It’s sweet really, that they both read so much. Wish I could say the same about myself, I like to read but being in this job, you don’t really get to sit around like that. Not that I’m complaining,” he smiled, catching Collins’ eye to try and cheer him up, knowing his smile tended to be infectious, at least for Collins.

“I like tae read. We have this huge book of plants at home in ma’s bookshelf. It’s so heavy I could nae lift it when I was little, but my favourite part of it is the illustrations, they’re all hand painted. The pages aren’t in paragraphs, there’s the painting, then a little bit on each plant off to the side of the artwork,” he explained, suddenly missing the book more than he had in a long time.

“Sounds like a nice one. We have one that sits in the dining room all about keeping your boat proper, how to treat the wood, this and that, it sounds sort of similar. It’s not just an information book, got lots of nice drawings as well. You’d like it,” Dawson said.

Collins didn’t answer, he looked down to his dog and then anxiously up to the window, where the light outside was beginning to dwindle. Dawson could tell he was fighting hard to keep his panic internal. His gaze slowly turned to his friend, blue eyes a tiny bit wider than usual, the only giveaway that he was struggling to keep it together. Then his eyes slowly looked down at his watch. It almost been three hours, the sun was hanging dangerously low in the sky. He looked up slowly to Dawson again, for some sort of reassurance.

“Mate, they’ll be back soon. Stop worrying, do you want to go do something to get your mind off it?” he asked, Collins nodded meekly though hadn’t the foggiest what he wanted to do.

Collins contemplated showing Dawson up onto the roof, but something inside him wanted to keep it special for just him and Farrier. He didn’t want to leave base in case 107 got back, so they settled on standing against the back wall of the building, Parker deciding it was getting too cold and wandering back inside after a few minutes. Collins crossed his arms tightly across his chest, fingers fiddling with the material of his sleeves.

“Collins, relax will you?” Dawson said.

“They should be here, Spitfires are faster. It was just a flyover to see what they could and come back,” he said tensely.

“Maybe they’re looking longer, maybe they take longer to refuel at Reims, I dunno mate but just because they’re not back, doesn’t mean something bad happened,” Dawson reassured him, the hand on his shoulder doing little to calm Collins. The feint sound of engines in the distance didn’t either, spiking his anxiety, was it them? Was everyone going to be there? Any emotion he was feeling was increased tenfold as the noise got louder and closer, the men soon being able to identify it as the unmistakable hum of Merlin engines, slightly different coming from a Spitfire than a Hurricane, but unmistakably the same engine.

“Told you!”

Dawson’s words wafted through the air and Collins vaguely registered them, his mood lifting, mind telling him to listen to Dawson. Soon the others who had been hanging about went outside to see the other squadron fly in. As soon as they were close enough Collins frantically counted the planes to make sure there were twelve, and there were.

“They’re all there!” he said hoarsely to Dawson, unaware that he’d been barely breathing the past few minutes. “Yeah, see?” his friend laughed.

Farrier was beyond relieved to see the familiar buildings and fields of the town he called home.

“Wheels down, everyone line up, you know how to do this lads,” he said, not feeling like he needed to but recognising protocol this time. He was out in front as lead flyer, and when his wheels hit the tarmac a wave of comfort rolled over the man, almost stronger than his will to control the plane properly, wishing he could just sit back and relish in the feeling of being home again. Yet, the Spitfire was a bitch on the ground, and Farrier had to wrangle the controls to snake her up the tarmac whilst keeping as clear a view in front as he could with such a long-nosed plane. The ground crew did an excellent job of directing him as usual, and as soon as he was able, Farrier pulled his headgear off and disconnected it from the cockpit and stepped out onto the wing.

Collins took a step forward away from the group of onlookers as Farrier got out, a hand, Dawson’s, grabbed his sleeve harshly and compelled Collins to remember his place, that there were people watching. He felt his friend’s hand gradually loosen off his clothing, but he stayed in his place to Dawson’s relief. Farrier jumped off the plane, Collins almost seeing him in slow motion, stunned that he was back and safe and absolutely fine after all that worrying. Farrier unzipped his Irvin whilst walking over to Canfield, who was striding out onto the tarmac.

“Alright then?” The older man asked.

“Nothing. No flak, enemies, didn’t spot much either though.”

“Well, a vector’s a vector, Tommy. Had to go and see,” Canfield said, Farrier huffed in response. He waited for the rest of his squadron to get out of their planes and rounded them up to talk on the tarmac. Most of the onlookers dispersed then, seeing that nothing eventful had happened and that everyone was back safe.

“C’mon, it’s cold,” Dawson said. Collins pursed his lips and gave a nod, realising standing next to the door waiting for Farrier’s entire squadron to walk past them was a stupid plan. Farrier saw the two blondes heading inside, part of him wished Collins hadn’t, but he was quickly pulled out of his thoughts by the conversation he was having with his squadron. It was just going over everything, how everyone felt, anything to improve on, partially it was to help Farrier shake the nerves. They filed inside shortly after, filling out logbooks and getting out of gear. The brunette slid his watch back onto his hand from where it had been on his life vest.

The sun had all but gone down by the time Dawson and Collins made it into the common room where Parker lay sleeping.

“Do ye think he can tell something’s happening?” Collins asked Dawson.

“…Yes,” Dawson said quietly.

“I mean, I don’t think he knows what, but can’t you tell?” Dawson added.

And then Collins realised, Parker’s behaviour _had_ changed. He seemed more anxious, and had for some reason begun to be more independent. Maybe it was just him growing up, the blonde hoped. Then 107 walked in unexpectedly, Farrier at the back of the group. Collins stared, for the first time in a while he was unable to break his gaze and luckily everybody was too exhausted to even notice. He waited for Dawson to nudge him, kick him, anything, but he was in awe as well. Farrier was in every sense of the word, a fighter pilot. He had an air about him that seemed to exude not only leadership, but determination and control. And in that moment, Dawson finally understood something of what Collins saw in the man. Of course, he felt no attraction himself, but that feeling of understanding, finally getting _why_. It all clicked. He shook himself and looked back down to the dog, suddenly feeling very small in front of the older pilot. Dawson wondered if Farrier knew that people looked up to him, he hoped so. 107 sat down, Farrier took a chair and moved it away from the group a little, all but collapsing back into it. Collins forced himself to wake Parker up and play with him a little, rolling him back and tickling his belly so that his eyes didn’t wander back to Farrier’s, who for several minutes was too tired to even bother shifting his gaze from the blonde. It was obvious Collins was avoiding eye contact now, his cheeks red as he played with Parker. Farrier finally looked away, and when his gaze moved to the windows, he realised it was raining softly, and that was why it had looked so hazy from the air. He was glad they’d gotten back in when they had, and at that moment Canfield walked in with several mismatched teapots on a tray and four stacks of mugs he’d rustled up from the kitchen.

“Well done to everyone today and also for the other day, I think we all need a warm cup of tea to celebrate both squadron’s successfully returning, it’s been a long week,” he said as he placed the tray down on the only table in the room; the one below the framed professional rendition of Collins’ painting and Dawson’s motto, the table that displayed the original, leaned against the wall behind it. Everyone made their way over to get some tea as Canfield turned to get some milk.

“You shouldn’t have,” Farrier said pointedly, not moving from his seat, arms crossed and one ankle balanced on his knee, jacket and flight boots still on.

“Oh don’t be silly, go get a cuppa!” Canfield smiled, trying to ignore the definite sharp inflection in the sentence.

“We didn’t do anything,” Farrier muttered as Canfield left, the older man choosing not to validate it with a response. The brunette walked out before the Wing Commander had returned with the milk. Collins and Dawson exchanged worried looks before Parker decided to get up and walk out of the common room too. Collins had to follow him so, throwing a half smile over his shoulder to Dawson, he left. The two men didn’t exchange any words, and Dawson silently drank his tea for all but thirty seconds before being bombarded by Turner and Finn and all the shenanigans that came with them.

Parker was getting hungry as it turned out, and whined at the door until he was let out into the courtyard where his bowl still resided. Collins filled it and waited for the dog to scoff his food down before they both went back inside. When the blonde followed the dog back into the common room, it was less crowded than when he’d left. A few stragglers, including Dawson were cleaning up the rest of the tea. Collins sat next to him for a while in silence, there wasn’t much to say.

“Go on,” Dawson then said quietly, reaching down to stroke Parker’s head and keep him in the room with him. Dawson gave Collins a look, he could tell where his friend wanted to be. They exchanged a nod, and then the Scot left. He walked upstairs and everything was quiet, and if he imagined hard enough, maybe they weren’t in a war.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahh another chapter done! It's scary how fast everything is happening now, in some ways I don't want anything to progress because then everyone'll be safe and happy and together, but that's not how stories work unfortunately. Thank you all for reading, and for all your kudos/comments, they really mean the world to me.  
> [ My Tumblr ](https://s-n-o-w-p-i-e-r-c-e-r.tumblr.com)  
> [ Afternoon Pinterest ](https://www.pinterest.com.au/Snovvpiercer/afternoon/)
> 
> Until next chapter ❤️


	5. Per Ardua Ad Astra

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Monday everyone. I hope you are all staying safe and healthy! Does anyone else have uni teachers who don't know how to use zoom?? It's a problem.

It wasn’t a relapse. Just because Farrier wanted to have a drink of something with a bit more to it than tea didn’t make it a relapse, did it? Two shots down he told himself to stop thinking too hard about it, he was allowed to drink whenever he wanted, he was an adult. Another shot down and he heard a sharp knock at his door. Swearing under his breath and hoping it wasn’t Canfield, he opened the door to Collins.

“I em… Can I come in?”

Farrier stood to the side, an absent expression on his face. He closed the door, locked it, and turned to see Collins looking at the alcohol set on the coffee table.

“… Is everything alright?” he asked carefully. A warm set of hands found their way around his waist, settling on his stomach as Farrier rested his chin on Collins’ shoulder.

“Yes, pet. Just a long day.”

Collins took a deep breath, and then broke from Farrier’s grasp to sit at one of the two chairs at his coffee table, looking out the window and watching the last of the day’s light disappear behind a blanket of cloud and rain. The same chair he’d been sat in when Farrier kissed him the first time. The man sat next to him then, and placed another glass on the table.

“It’s Scotch.”

Collins almost laughed at the statement, almost. He downed the drink quickly once poured, and looked sideways to Farrier whose eyes were already trained on his.

“Just promise yer alright,” Collins said again.

“God, yes! Just because a man wants a drink doesn’t mean he’s not okay.”

“When a man drinks alone, brings along certain connotations.”

“I… Well yes, but I wasn’t going to let it get out of hand,” Farrier said, pouring into both glasses again, he’d forgotten that Collins could hold his liquor. The two had never really had drinks together before except the time with Tilly, Stella, Wingnut and Dawson. Today was as good a time as any. They sat like that for a while, in silence. Collins told Farrier to put the bottle away after a while, when the shots had become slightly bigger pours, and to Collins’ surprise, Farrier listened.

“Any flak?” Collins asked,

“No actually, nothing at all.”

For some reason Collins felt sad upon hearing those words, that he’d run into trouble and Farrier hadn’t. He told himself to stop it, how selfish he was being. Of course part of him was happy that his partner had been in even more relative safety than he had, but he wished both of them had gone through the same experience.

“It’s like that, you can’t predict who’ll face what. Least you only saw a bit of flak,” Farrier said, reading the concern on Collins’ face. The blonde hummed in agreement, soft under the sound of the rain now hitting the window.

“What do ye want for your birthday?”

Farrier laughed and shook his head.

“Don’t want anything, love.”

Collins pushed more, but Farrier was adamant that he didn’t want anything. That didn’t mean of course, that he wouldn’t get anything, Collins just wouldn’t tell him until he would receive it.

“I need some food, come down to the kitchen with me?”

“No you’re alright pet,”

“You willnae eat tonight?”

“Not hungry.”

Collins stood and pursed his lips,

“C’mon. It’ll make ye feel better,” he said, Farrier just huffed.

“Please?”

Farrier couldn’t say no to that, and obviously Collins was right. He pushed on his knees and stood slowly, letting the blonde know he’d be down shortly.

Collins was met with an empty kitchen, checking his watch it was later than he’d realised. It was raining hard now and as Farrier walked in quietly, they shared a look of understanding. Things were different now, in some ways. Farrier cleared his throat and leaned on the bench next to Collins, a safe distance away.

“They’re digging out shelters next to the runway over the next few weeks,” he said. Canfield had caught him on the stairwell while he was making his way to the kitchen and let him know.

“I thought the radar room was lined for protection?”

“It is, but it’s a radar room now, we can’t use it how we’d planned to.”

“So, how many dugouts?”

“I don’t know, Michael just sort of told me as he was going up to bed. It’ll have to be enough to fit all the people who are based here though. He said it’d all be done by my birthday though, so it’ll be fairly fast. Country can get things done very quickly when it actually needs to.”

The next day, everyone sat around watching the dugouts get made, almost hoping there’d be some action. It was frustrating, they couldn’t start flying about to train because what if they got called out on a sortie? They had to be on the ground to be ready to go up if need be and couldn’t be clogging the airspace, if they flew off during training they’d have wasted fuel in the air already as well. They couldn’t leave base on the ground for the same reason, they were on duty. Collins sat in the common room trying to rub warmth into his fingers while looking out the window. It was a very clear day, visibility was excellent. There was no wind but the chill in the air was terrible. Parker was sleeping on top of Collins’ feet, which were already warm in his sheepskin flying boots but were made even more so by his furry companion. All day they waited, and nothing. The shadows got long on the runways, the air got colder still, and nobody had as much as a call. At 1800 hours it was without a doubt that nothing would happen, the sun was well down and Gatwick wasn’t equipped with night fighters, nor men with the training to fly them.

“Canfield, can we go off base?” Collins asked.

“Why, yes, but remember that it’s a blackout. No street lights will be on. And the shops will be dark.”

It seemed like there wouldn’t be another time he’d get a chance to get something for Farrier, doubting he’d get actual leave before then.

He told Dawson not to come with, the man knew where his friend was going and didn’t put up much of a fight, instead offering to occupy Parker until Collins returned. The Scot put on a big coat, the same one he’d wrapped Parker up in when he’d first found him, and walked out into the night. It was incredibly hard to see what he was doing, but at least it wasn’t raining, and his eyes eventually adjusted. Collins walked quickly to the main built up area, where he knew the shops were, though he had no idea what to get Farrier. It was strange seeing the same stores without any lights on, but still open. It was sad. Collins walked into several, but nothing caught his eye. As he stepped back out onto the footpath from one, a thought crossed his mind. Why didn’t he give Farrier something of his? Maybe the man would be happier knowing Collins didn’t spend money on him. He didn’t really have many photos of himself, there wasn’t a camera on anyone he’d known in Aviemore, and the only ones he’d gotten recently were school photos or military photos. Then an idea came into the blonde’s head. His kilt pin. Something to always remind Farrier of him. He walked back with even more difficulty than he had going out, little trace of light left anywhere in the sky. When he reached the front doors of the airbase Collins was relieved out of his mind that he hadn’t gotten lost.

“Find anything?” Dawson asked when he trudged up into his room,

“No,”

“Are you going to go out again and look then?”

“No, I’ll figure something out.” Collins said, preferring to stay vague. He bobbed down to pat Parker, who lolled onto his back immediately.

Still, by the time Farrier’s birthday rolled around nobody had gone on another sortie.

“I could have gotten so much leave!” the Farrier laughed to Canfield,

“You probably could have yes, but at least it appears you won’t have to do anything on your birthday anyway, lad,” the older man chuckled, slipping Farrier a small box as they sat on some chairs they’d pulled outside. They were against the back wall, looking out over the runway. It was warmer today and though still not objectively warm, it was enough so that the men could sit outside rugged up and be comfortable.

“You didn’t have to,” Farrier said.

“I’m aware, but I wanted to.”

Farrier opened the lid and found three things. A flask, some new cufflinks, and a new lighter.

“Oh wow, Michael how much did you spend on all this?”

“Not important, but you like them all?”

“I bloody love these.”

He got the lighter out, it was silver and rectangular, with a small design engraved into it, _Per ardua ad astra._

“Canfield this is beautiful,”

“Isn’t it? Had that custom engraved, my boy. I know you like the motto, even if you won’t admit it.”

Farrier put it back in the box and paused, something was off.

“Why are you giving me all these special things?” he asked, looking up. Canfield took a breath before answering.

“Just because there’s a war on doesn’t mean you can’t have nice things.”

“That’s it?”

“Yes, I can give you nice things if I want to,” he said defensively.

“Well… Thank you. I really appreciate these, and the sentiment,” Farrier mumbled. He was more sentimental than he cared to admit, and only sometimes did he allow it to show.

“Surprised you trust me with this though,” he said, holding up the flask.

“I do trust you. It was a nice flask and I thought you’d like it, I trust you to do the right thing,” Canfield said quietly, and began to stand, leaving Farrier alone with his thoughts.

Nothing happened for the rest of the day, save for Parker knocking over a bucket of paint that some of the officers including Farrier were using to redo the lines on the edge of the runway. Collins saw the whole thing unfold from where he was sat inside the common room, chatting to his wingmen.

“Shite, that’s my problem” he said, and stood up to go and get him, much to Dawson and Turner’s amusement.

Parker was yapping about happily as Farrier tried miserably to get him to calm down. He spotted the blonde coming out of the door,

“Will you come and get this mongrel?” he yelled, amusement poorly masked by a tone of irritation. Collins didn’t have to, the dog ran up to him upon spotting him and Collins took him into the courtyard, first making sure there was no paint on his paws as he walked him through the hall to the quadrangle. After as much scrubbing as they could warrant, Farrier decided that they weren’t going to be able to get rid of the paint completely.

“Adds character, as if this place needed any more of that,” he said only half sarcastically to the others, who agreed.

That night, Farrier put his gifts from Canfield away, being interrupted by a fidgety Collins.

“Happy birthday,” he said quietly as soon as he got inside, earning him one of Farrier’s wonderfully tight, warm and all-encompassing hugs and a murmured ‘thank you’ into Collins’ shoulder.

“Well, I know ye told me not to get you anything, so I didn’t,” Collins said as Farrier sat back on his bed, the man let out a single laugh, relieved, until the blonde held out a closed hand. He sat down next to Farrier and opened his hand, revealing his kilt pin. The little silver point with a thistle on the head and wonderful Celtic knots running down it.

“I… No pet, this is yours.”

“Not anymore, I want you to have it.”

“But it’s part of your kilt!”

“It’s part of me, and I’m giving it to you.”

At this Farrier faltered, any words he was going to say dissipated and he looked at Collins, who had such happiness in his eyes as Farrier finally took the pin from his hand.

“…Thank you,” Farrier said quietly, with a soft voice and eyes to match.

Gently their lips touched and Farrier’s hand found itself in Collins’ hair. They broke apart, the brunette holding his partner close. There hadn’t been time lately, to disappear, to be together. They rested their foreheads together and for a moment, just breathed.

“I wish I could just go away with you,” Farrier murmured deeply. Collins tensed but not from anxiety, from excitement at the prospects.

“Oh yeah? Where to?” he mused.

“Somewhere away from everything,”

After a joke about Aviemore, Collins’ hair was ruffled and the blonde stood up, realising the time.

“Wish we could’ve done something nice on yer birthday,”

“Oh no, I don’t even want to do anything. The dog knocking over the paint bucket was plenty,” Farrier laughed.

“Yeah, sorry I wasn’t watching him.”

“It’s alright, you don’t have to watch him every second of the day. I think the paint adds a nice artistic splash to the tarmac,” Farrier laughed.

Collins went to leave but turned as Farrier stood too, placing a hand on his shoulder to turn the blonde.

“I know we’ve talked about it vaguely, how you want to show me Aviemore. I want to take you to Bridgwater.”

Farrier hadn’t explicitly stated where in Sommerset he was raised before, it was the first time Collins was finding this out.

“I.. Yeah of course, maybe we can get some leave together,” Collins suggested.

“Maybe, each try and get a handful of days off and have a few overlap,” Farrier said, earning him a hum of agreement.

“Well, I should get back, who knows if it’ll be 0600 hours again,” Collins smiled. Farrier was close to him then, in his personal space and rubbing their noses together.

“Mmm’alright,” he said, worlds rolling together and half mumbled in his sleepy way.

“Happy birthday, sentimental sod,” Collins smiled.

“Oh really?” Farrier chuckled, finally letting go of Collins, allowing him to take his leave.

“Still love ye,”

“I love you too, eejit,” Farrier smirked, using Collins’ own lingo towards him, earning a chuckle as the blonde reached the door.

If Collins had known that he wouldn’t see Farrier on his birthday for such a long, long time after that night, perhaps he would have been more sentimental. Perhaps if Farrier had known, he wouldn’t have said goodnight so willingly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all liked this one (and I had to do it to you at the end). Thank you all for your lovely kudos and comments so far, it's the only way I know people are enjoying what I write so I really appreciate it!! (I hope you all know what Per Ardua Ad Astra means, if you've ever been to my tumblr you know I love that motto with all my heart)
> 
> [ My Tumblr ](https://s-n-o-w-p-i-e-r-c-e-r.tumblr.com)  
> [ Afternoon Pinterest ](https://www.pinterest.com.au/Snovvpiercer/afternoon/)
> 
> Until next chapter ❤️


	6. Sandwiches in France

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Monday all. I've just gotten home from work, and I had to call 000 (The Australian emergency number) because a store next to the restaurant I work was on fire. The fire got put out and nobody was injured at all, but the store looks like it's greatly damaged. Glad someone ran into our restaurant and told us of the fire so I knew to call though, it could have spread more if that hadn't happened. ANYWAY, hope everyone enjoys this one.

It was late morning when Dawson woke to the insistent rapping of knuckles on his door.

“1020 hours pilot!” came Davis’ voice, and Dawson smiled to himself as he rose from bed, first pushing his curtains open to see a bright blue sky, and then walking to his door.

“Finally,” he said to Davis, who gave him a confused look.

“I hate sitting around like this, not even being able to train because we might get called up. This is the only way I can fly now!” he almost laughed.

“Well, you’re not wrong there,” Davis agreed, and kept walking along to knock on others’ doors. Dawson trudged downstairs, it irked him that he was in a good mood to go on a sortie. It hadn’t been easy last time, it had been stressful and scary and looking over his wing to see his best friend’s plane much lower than the rest of the squadron being aimed at by AA guns was awful, because he couldn’t do anything, it wasn’t like flying down there would have done anything to protect Collins. He shook the thought from his head and went outside to see if the milk had been collected from the front step yet. When he went back into the kitchen to find the milk in the fridge which had already been brought inside, Collins was there.

“Morning,” he said briskly to Dawson,

“Morning mate. How you feeling about things then?” he asked, boiling the kettle for them both.

“Well, I hope I don’t freeze up again,” Collins almost laughed. Dawson could tell he was nervous, and he knew he should have been himself, but the thought of flight again after so long was so tantalising. ‘So long’ being just over a week. Dawson decided maybe speaking his thoughts would help Collins ease up.

“Well, I’m sort of looking forward to it. Been a while since we’ve been able to fly, hasn’t it? At least we’ll be back in the air again mate.”

Collins tilted his head to the side, considering, but his eyes didn’t move from the table he sat at. Soon the other squadron members began to trickle into the kitchen, Dawson wondering why they’d taken so much longer considering he hadn’t been the first to be woken.

“Good morning lads!” came Turner’s chipper voice.

“Morning Turner, how’s it going?” Dawson asked.

“Cannae complain, Dawson, cannae complain,” the Irishman smiled, getting out the bread from the cupboard for toast.

Everyone in the squadron enjoyed Dawson’s company, because the boy made an effort to speak to all of them and spend time getting to know them. Collins didn’t spend time doing that, he wondered if most of the squadron just had a very neutral view on him. Perhaps once Collins would have felt jealous, that Dawson was so good at making friends, but not now. He smiled peacefully as he and Turner began a conversation in front of him amongst the morning buzz of the rest of the squadron. Davis then sat down next to Collins,

“How are we this morning?”

“Fine,”

Davis sat quietly for a while, trying to think of how he wanted to say it.

“I know you’re a good flyer, lad. Which is why, and I know it doesn’t need to be said, but be careful, you know?”

“I will be. I think… I think what happened last time won’t happen this time,” Collins said, watching Dawson pour their teas, not that Collins had asked him to pour one for him, but he was.

“I know, I guess, well… Sometimes I don’t know if I’m ready for everything that comes with being lead flyer, you know?” Davis said.

“The responsibility?”

“Yeah.”

“I donnae think anyone would be, but yer probably the best prepared out of all of 102, Davis,” Collins reassured him. Davis’ expression softened, he gave the blonde a half smile which didn’t quite reach his eyes, before muttering something about going to check the conditions of take-off and leaving the kitchen.

In less than an hour they were up, orders this time barely varying from their first sortie except the area was slightly south. It was the first day Collins had put on his Irvin jacket, he’d run upstairs to grab it realising the weather was much colder outside than the blue sky had made it seem. He caught Farrier on the stairs, having apparently slept through the wakeup calls, and hadn’t even realised 102 was about to fly off until he’d seen Collins.

“You look like a seasoned officer in that,”

“Don’t feel it.”

They looked at each other for a second, stealing a glance like they always used to before anything had even started between them.

“I’ll see you this afternoon then,” Farrier said.

“I’ll see you then,” Collins replied quietly, before turning and jogging downstairs, Farrier following him down to watch the squadron fly off.

They were currently flying over the channel away from Britain, and Collins couldn’t quite describe it to himself, but somehow flying out over water made him feel even more weightless than flying over land, like he really was in the air miles away from the earth, solidified in the fact that he couldn’t just land if he wanted.

“Tannol Leader, this is Red 2, do you copy?”

“Red 2 I copy, go ahead Red 2.”

“I spy something blue.”

There were several chuckles over the radios at that before Davis groaned and answered,

“The Channel?”

“No.”

“The sky?”

“No!”

“Then what, for bloody hell’s sake?”

“My uniform!” Riley answered with a cackle,

“Nothing wrong with a bit of light-hearted banter over the channel lads!” he added.

The banter ceased once they reached the European mainland, however. Once over Germany, they didn’t drop any altitude, Davis unwilling to sacrifice it for better view. There was radio silence for a while, nothing but the hum of the Hurricanes as they flew high above the land.

“Cannae see a thing, Blue Leader!” Turner said.

“I don’t want us to get bombarded with flak again lads,” Davis replied.

“It’s a war, with all respect Tannol Leader,” said Alan, Davis’ wingman. The lead flyer sighed audibly over the radios, and then relented. Collins tried to ignore the way his stomach dropped when Davis gave the order to go lower, he couldn’t tear his eyes off what he could see of the ground, not that he’d see an AA gun from where they were.

“Green 2 this is Green 1, mind giving me a little more breathing room?” came Dawson’s voice, playful through the intercom. Collins realised he’d been flying a lot closer to Dawson than Turner was on his other side.

“Oh, yeah. Sorry Green 1,” he said, pulling over just a tad to put a more comfortable distance between their wings. It was the first time Dawson had said something like that to Collins, something in an authoritative tone. He was in every right to of course, he was the lead flyer of Green Section, he was leading them for a reason. Collins wasn’t the best flyer, he wasn’t the worst but he was never the standout. In his mind, Dawson was the best flyer from those who had originally been trained at Gatwick, not counting Davis and the other officers. Dawson was technically fourth down the line in terms of supposed skill, first were the three pilots in the Blue Section who headed the squadron, then was Dawson, lead of Green. So, he was the best out of those who had trained at Gatwick in the squadron. Collins was proud of his friend but also thankful that he never seemed to get a big head, all he ever did was deny any ability he had and claim to just be a run of the mill pilot.

Before they knew it, they were heading for Reims again to refuel, having finished reconnaissance.

“Quiet day today,” said Davis to anyone who felt like answering.

“Well, weren’t we closer to where 107 went?” Dawson asked.

“Yes, seems it’s a safe pocket, but also there doesn’t seem to be anything down there so… Don’t know if we’ll get vectored over there again,” Davis said. In the distance Collins spotted the Reims aerodrome. Everyone bled their extra speed as they came in closer.

“Line up for landing, 102, just the same as last time,” Davis said. He sounded tired, but then again Collins couldn’t imagine having to worry about an entire squadron instead of worry if his wing was going to touch Dawson’s.

The Hurricanes soon began falling down through the air, their lift no longer overpowering their weight. Collins let the undercarriage down and began his landing checks. It wasn’t his best landing, the tyres of the plane bouncing off the ground before again making contact and sticking, the blonde internally kicking himself for still not being able to land as well as some of the others. He reminded himself that at least he’d never nosed over or actually damaged a plane while landing.

They came in to land and were taxied into a line in front of the Reims hangars. This time, Collins decided to jump out and have a look around. Dawson and Turner did the same, and then the whole squadron was out in the cold but bright sun. They were greeted by an RAF officer with an accent that Collins couldn’t quite place at first, after a few sentences about lunch in the mess he realised the man sounded like he might be from New Zealand.  
  


“Interesting chap,” Dawson commented quietly as they followed the rest of the squadron towards the mess hall.

“Was he from New Zealand?” Collins asked.

“Yep, my dad used to have a friend from there, he eventually moved back I think,” Dawson said.

“Ah New Zealand! I had no clue why I couldn’t place the accent!” Turner laughed.

They walked into a long building, the roof and walls were corrugated iron bent down into a semicylinder. Inside were long tables and many chairs.

“What’s this remind you of?” Dawson asked Collins quietly.

“Miss that dining hall,” Collins replied, thinking of his last glimpses of it before it became a radar room.

It was sandwiches and fruit for lunch, accompanied by talk about what it was like to be based in France.

“It definitely feels less safe feeling than being home,” said McNicol, the officer who had greeted Davis and was currently seated next to Collins eating. His squadron was permanently based at Reims.

“But, there’s that sense of duty that draws you. I don’t feel like I want to go back home because I’m scared, you know?” he added.

“You live in Britain?”

“Yes I do, moved here in ’36 with my family,” he said proudly.

“How many sorties are you getting?” Dawson asked.

“Not many, mainly reconnaissance. You?”

“Same, only reconnaissance for us so far. This is only our second flight of the war.”

“Lord, we’ve done seven,” McNicol said.

After a bit more small talk, Davis rounded 102 up again to head back.

Luckily Davis had faxed through that they’d stopped for lunch, else Farrier may well have lost it with nerves.

“He’s a smart boy, Davis. He’s a very good leader, all things considered,” Canfield said.

“All things?” Farrier clarified,

“Well, lack of experience being the main thing.”

“Ah he’s got plenty.”

“Not like us,” Canfield smiled.

“I remember back in the day when you would tell me off for not shining my shoes enough,” Farrier laughed.

“I can’t even be bothered now. To be fair, you’ve smartened up a notch as well,” Canfield laughed, causing Farrier to shake his head with a smile playing faintly on his face.

It was back to the Hurricanes and as soon as the refuelling was done, they were back in the air with considerably fuller stomachs. The flight home seemed faster to Collins, not that they were actually going faster. Maybe it was because everything had gone smoothly today. When the white cliffs appeared again, he smiled to himself. It was interesting to call England home, but he did now, call both England and Scotland home. It felt like as soon as they’d flown over the Jurassic Coast, Collins catching a glimpse of the huge radar towers on the edge of the mainland, that they were nearing Gatwick.

They lined up just as they had at Reims, and came in to land, Collins much happier with his landing this time and supressing a giggle when Dawson’s plane in front of him bounced up off the ground and then came down again like his had earlier. They all got out of the planes and it was a relief to see the familiar fields and buildings with their feet on the ground once more. Canfield was inside when they landed, as he made his cup of tea hearing the roar of the Hurricanes soothed his mind and somehow made him feel more comfortable, even if they were formidable weapons of war. He supposed it was also that they had men in them who he knew, cared for and had trained himself.

Farrier was out on the tarmac holding Parker around the body as the dog tried his hardest to run towards the planes.

“You’re not going over there, look! They’re moving the planes away boy, he’ll be over soon.”

And ‘he’ was, seeing Farrier struggle with his dog enticed a chuckle out of the blonde and before he was even yelling distance away, Parker broke free and ran to him. He jumped up onto Collins and Dawson laughed at how energetic the dog was, and how clearly not used to his increasing size both Parker and Collins were. Dawson looked ahead to see Farrier standing next to the door, arms crossed with a smirk on his face, clearly amused by the dog and its owner’s lack of ability to control it. They were the last walking inside, and Dawson muttered something about going up to his room before leaving Collins and Farrier in the doorway deliberately.

“Afternoon,” the blonde smiled. Farrier couldn’t have been happier to see the difference in mood compared to when Collins had come back from his first sortie.

“You’re not going to stop saying that, are you?”

“No, why should I? Gets a reaction out of you.”

Farrier shook his head, Parker finally had stopped jumping up on Collins but was still incessantly wagging his tail as he stood next to him.

“Everything alright then? Davis seemed fine when he went in,” Farrier said.

“Ye, everything was absolutely fine. We didn’t see anythin’, stopped for lunch at Reims and we met a man from New Zealand, then we came home,” Collins smiled.

“Well, I’m glad to hear you had a lovely aerial tour of the continent then,” the brunette smiled as they both walked inside out of the cold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading, as always. Thought a nice happy peaceful chapter was in order considering how close '3 weeks into the war' is. (Yes you'll get a warning about it before). Thank you all for your kudos and comments, they mean a lot to me.   
> [ My Tumblr ](https://s-n-o-w-p-i-e-r-c-e-r.tumblr.com)  
> [ Afternoon pinterest ](https://www.pinterest.com.au/Snovvpiercer/afternoon/)
> 
> Until next chapter ❤️


	7. Small World

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Monday everyone! I am uploading this a bit early today, so I assume it's the middle of the night for some of you. This is a bittersweet one (and angsty, look at who wrote this), but I hope you're all able to enjoy it nonetheless. It might be the last one with a bit of lightheartedness for a while.  
> (also tw: injury detail/gore for this chapter)

Having the radio on was now the norm, just so anyone could listen to any news there may be. It was also nice just to have some sort of background noise in the most frequented rooms, something to take everyone’s mind off the strangeness of how relaxed everything was, how little action they were seeing. It didn’t feel right, to be at war but sitting around, it put everyone on edge but also rocked them into a sense of relief both at once.

“I just wish we could leave base, it’s so stupid that we’re on call like this and have to stay around,” Dawson complained. They were sat against the back wall of the building looking out at the runway, something Collins had realised they did quite a lot. Nobody else seemed to go there, so maybe they did it for privacy, because as social as Dawson could be, he understood that Collins preferred quiet one-on-one conversations. Plus, it was nice to look up and see the sky.

“Aye, ridiculous. Surely we can get a lunch slip,” Collins said.

“I… Hadn’t even thought about that. It’s not like it was explained to us,” Dawson said.

“It wasn’t! I love this place but it can be so disorganised,”

“I’m with you on that mate. I don’t know if I’d prefer it like this or to be overly strict.”

They got up to go and ask Canfield about going to the sandwich store.

“Oh that place. It’s only, what, five minutes’ walk away? I’m sure I could give you two a lunch slip for that,” he said, already getting the leave book out onto the desk.

“Thank ye Canfield. Just a bit frustrating that we cannae even leave, you know?”

“I completely agree my boy, I think little trips like this should be fine. Plus considering how little we’ve actually been doing, I doubt you two will miss much,” he said, and handed them both little pieces of paper.

The two both had their arms crossed tightly, hands warming under their arms as they walked up the footpath towards the shop. It was quite windy today and it was overcast, though rain hadn’t made a show yet.

“Think Canfield would mind if we sat in and ate? It’s so cold today,” Dawson said.

“Doubt it, I think we should. Haven’t for ages,” Collins agreed.

The men stepped inside the sandwich store, greeted by warmth from the fire at the back. A few people glanced up, probably because they were in their uniforms.

“Don’t!” Stella hissed at Tilly, who was waving her hand in the air as they sat at the table. Tilly had convinced Stella to come and eat lunch with her, mainly because they served soups here and the dark haired woman seemed to be more okay with soup than anything substantial or solid, she’d given her bread to Tilly.

“Why? We all live in this town, we’re going to bump into them everywhere, Gatwick is tiny! Plus, Jack is your friend, don’t be rude, Stel,” Tilly said, and it was too late anyway because the two blondes had spotted them and made their way to the table.

“Oh hello there,” Collins smiled.

Hello you two, small world!” Tilly smiled warmly.

“Out for lunch? Good spot for it,” Dawson said, wondering why Stella was blushing down at her food, not making eye contact with anyone.

“We’re trying it out, never been here before!” the redhead smiled,

“Have we Stella?”

“Mm, no we’ve not.”

Tilly made a face at Collins which implied not to worry about Stella.

“Well we willnae bother you two, have a good lunch, ladies,” the Scot said.

Something kicked Stella into gear, maybe hearing the disappointment in Collins’ voice, maybe feeling guilty for not even saying hello, especially when she and Dawson were both making an effort to be friends.

“Oh, don’t you want to sit with us?” She asked. The two turned and smiled, Tilly laughed.

What?” Collins asked,

“It’s funny how similar you two are,” she said happily.

The men ordered at the counter, and Tilly took the chance to gently kick Stella under the table.

“Where are your manners today?” she asked.

“You’re not my mother, Til.”

“No, but I can still ask,”

Stella sighed, pushing the soup around in the bowl with the spoon. She didn’t plan on finishing it, and hadn’t had much.

“I don’t like people watching me eat, Tilly. Why do you think I try and excuse myself from the table all the time? You’re just about the only person I mind watching,” Stella said quietly.

“I know. I’m sorry, sometimes I see people we know and get all excited. I’m sorry,” Tilly said, resting a hand on her own cheek, letting her head fall into it, she genuinely had forgotten about that quirk Stella had.

“It’s okay. I don’t mind this once, with these two.”

Tilly was quiet. She so desperately wished she could be more help than she was for Stella.

“I can’t believe how open you are with me, Stel,” was what she arrived at.

“Well, I have no reason not to be,” the woman smiled. Stella didn’t think she deserved Tilly at all, who was such a beautiful person, kind and soft, like the way the sun’s rays floated down through water, how a warm summer’s breeze caressed the trees. Stella didn’t see herself as an amazing individual, and part of the reason she told Tilly everything was because she thought if she knew everything, she’d have every opportunity to leave. She hadn’t yet, and that surprised Stella the most.

“What’s up?” Tilly asked, seeing Stella frown in thought.

“I don’t deserve you.”

Tilly rolled her eyes and smiled, and was about to reply when the two blondes returned and sat down in the other seats at the table.

“So, you say you’ve never been here before. What do you think?” Dawson asked the girls.

“Good, very cosy,” Stella managed.

“We’ve been coming here for, goodness it’s almost two years now, ye?” Collins asked Dawson.

“About that yeah. I think we started, well you and Wingnut went a few times before you knew me didn’t you? I started coming along in May I think, last year and it’s September now,” Dawson said, wistfully looking up as he crossed his arms.

“Jesus, yeah,” Collins said as he realised how long they’d been going.

“You two must just about be their best customers then!” Tilly smiled.

“Wouldnae be surprised,” Collins agreed. Their food arrived and Stella began to feel ill looking at it all, so many smells and sights.

“If you will all excuse me for a second, just off to the ladies’,” she said. The boys didn’t understand why Tilly looked like she was trying to hide a face of alarm.

“Don’t let your soup get cold!” she said weakly after Stella.

Stella reached the bathrooms and pulled out a cigarette. She stood there, arms folded across her front. She knew she was being stupid, not only that but acting out in front of Jack and Alexander-never-Alex. Stella huffed to herself and took another drag on the cigarette before deciding she’d already been in the bathroom for too long. She threw the smoke in the sink and after a deep breath and a word to herself that it would be okay, she reentered the dining area again and sat down.

“So…” Stella said quietly, looking at the two men.

“War.”

For those few minutes before she’d said the word, it was almost like they could completely forget that they were at war at all. Collins hummed but didn’t say anything.

“Are you scared?” Stella asked both blondes, Tilly went to tell Stella not to say such a thing,

“It’s alright, it’s a fair question,” Dawson said.

“I’m not scared for myself, just for my family. I’ll do whatever I can to make sure this country stays safe for them, but I’ve got a little brother, see? He’s already 17, he’s a good lad though, he wouldn’t lie his way into the military. I just hope it doesn’t last until he’s 18,” Dawson said. Collins hadn’t seen the dark look in Dawson’s eyes before, and he hadn’t expressed worry over his family much before, he barely even gave out informatino about them, let alone openly worry about them like this. Collins was glad in that moment to be an only child.

“I’m sure it won’t come to that though,” Tilly said, though it was clear by the empty sound in her words that she was saying it to be kind, not because she believed it.

“Well I for one am scared,” Collins said. Dawson looked at him with that same sad smile he sometimes gave Collins, the one that meant he wished he could help but knew he couldn’t.

“Of it all?”

“I… I’m scared of what war might turn me into,” he said, thinking about his words. The women exchanged worried looks.

“Like you won’t be you anymore?” Stella asked,

“Like I won’t be the me I am now.”

The four sat in silence for a while, thinking about what Collins had just said. None of them wanted to deny his words, they all knew there was a truth behind them.

“You’ll always have a piece of the old you inside,” Dawson finally said quietly. He wasn’t smiling at all.

It began to rain then, so lightly that unless Stella’s eyes hadn’t shifted from the conversation to the window, she wouldn’t have noticed at all. She looked back at Jack, whose eyes were dark. She hadn’t seen him speak like this, even when they’d argued, even when he was angry and frustrated about him and his partner, which she hoped he’d done something about by now.

“Well, we just have to keep going I suppose,” Tilly said, bringing Stella back into the conversation. Her dark eyes met Collins’ and in that moment, she saw deeper than the interesting Scotsman who she’d come to enjoy the company of, who was unreasonably kind and perhaps didn’t stand up for himself enough. In that moment she saw something deeper, it was fear, but it was founded, contemplated and as he sat there, Collins seemed a lot older to Stella than he had before.

“I’m scared too,” she said quietly.

Farrier was cleaning his own car for once in his life, usually he took it down to the garage whenever he needed it cleaned and they’d do it for him, the place seemed happy to do anything that paid. It was only because he felt like he should stay on base, especially after getting told off by Canfield for leaving. There was nothing else to do, so to occupy his time Farrier had grabbed the bucket and sponge and got to work. It was cold outside, his fingers were freezinng and half numb from the water in the bucket as he wiped soapy water all over the black surface. It was as he reached over to get some water on the top of the car that a searing white pain jumped out of his torso suddenly, causing the man to jump and pull his arm back closer to his body from where it had been stretched over the car.

“Now?” Farrier asked himself in annoyance. Usually the pain was a throbbing, it came with his pulse and ebbed and flowed and if he held his hand there, sometimes holding a hand there even helped. Farrier put the sponge down and slid a hand under his jumper. The pain was constant and somehow dizzying. He rested his other arm on the side of the car, leant his weight into it. Another jolting pain tore through his body and that was when he decided to go inside.

“Fuck’s sake, can’t even clean the bloody car!” he muttered as he walked back to the front of the building to the main entrance. He went straight into Canfield’s office, remebering vaguely that he had bandages in there somewhere and not wanting to go to the nursing building because they always made such a fuss over him. Farrier looked in all the drawers and on every surface he could see, but there weren’t any bandages. As he looked through the drawers of Canfield’s desk again another sharp jolt of pain had him hunched over with a grimace on his face. He gingerly felt around for something sharp poking out of his skin. It was a sensation he’d never get used to, when shrapnel decided to make a show. Surprisingly, there was nothing there. Farrier pulled his jumper up to look at his stomach, and to his surprise he wasn’t even bleeding.

“What the hell?”

Canfield was sitting in the common room, waiting for something, or nothing. Who knew, these days. When Farrier walked in slowly, Canfield knew there was something wrong just by looking at the man’s face, and how pale it was. He got up and looked at Farrier worriedly.

“What’s wrong?”

“Ah, just the old injury playing u-AH!”

Farrier winced and held his hand on his stomach, unable to stop the end of a yelp of pain. He’d tried to sound casual, what with a room of people, not that it worked well for him.

“Nurses, go,” Canfield said straight away.

“They make too much of a fuss,”

“Well they ought to! Look at you!” Canfield said, standing.

Eventually he got Farrier to walk across the carpark to the nursing building and explain the situation, not that it needed much explanation.

“Sounds like there might be a big one coming then, sir,” Miss Anne said, quietly triumphant that she’d gotten Farrier to sit on one of the beds, knowing how much he hated being in here. He let her put some sort of numbing cream on his skin, though it did nothing for the internal pain. That was the thing with his injury, there wasn’t much they could do except wait, because Farrier downright refused to be put under anesthetic.

“I’m not a sir,” Farrier laughed as he lay down,

“Sorry, yes. Officer,” Miss Anne corrected herself.

“I was joking, love. You’re too uptight about everything,”

“People do tell me that,” she smiled. It was wiped off immediately when Farrier groaned and his hand flew back to his stomach.

“Just let me lie here, there’s nothing you can do now,” he said, and was promptly shushed.

It was a strange feeling, when the shrapnel finally pierced his skin. It was like it was happening slowly. It was a hot pain, and Farrier was halfway between feeling so much pain he’d faint, and so much that he couldn’t feel any. He went to reach down to try and help it out of his stomach,

“No!” the nurse said,

“Come on, I do it all the time. It’s fine,” Farrier said, and tried to get a hold of the corner. He pulled, and suddenly realised it had been a bad idea when not only did it feel like he was pulling something attached to his insides and a dull ache spread throughout his torso, but he actually succeeded in pulling the shrapnel out further, but considering it’s size and sharpness, it cut a fresh slice into his flesh.

“I told you! Now look!” Miss Anne said, and had Farrier feeling like a child being scoulded. He looked down at himself as red finally beaded around the piece of metal. Soon it turned into drops, and one made its way down his side onto the white sheets. It was then that Canfield appeared from the door into the building, rushing up to the bed.

“I’m fine, Michael. You’re on standby, go sit by the phone.”

“’Fine’, bloody look at you!” he said harshly, though could see that Farrier seemed already put out by something or other. It wasn’t just pain on his face, it was sadness.

“Must have half the plane in there,” Canfield tried, coaxing a smile onto Farrier’s face.

“Just wish it was all gone,” he said, and his smile faded. He gasped as another wave of pain spread. It was a dull pain now, even if he could see how sharp the piece of metal was, but no less excruciating. He reached down to try and pull it out, but the woman next to the bed shrieked again.  
“Miss Anne, either you let it become a long drawn out process or you let me deal with it in my own way,” he said.

“If it gets to it, we will deal with it in a much more stable manner than having the patient pull out his own shrapnel, thank you _Officer,_ ” she said, drawing out the word. Farrier huffed, but didn’t touch the shrapnel. As it turned out, ‘a more stable manner’ was needed, but in Farrier’s mind it was no different to what he would have done anyway. It involved Miss Anne with a pair of tweezers and another nurse holding thick bandage pads around the area, apparently making it less likely the skin would tear further than it had to in order to let the shrapnel out. Farrier watched as the piece of metal was pulled out of his body. He couldn’t feel anything now, not pain, barely even sensation save for a constant pulling feeling. As soon as it was out, his body began to bleed and bandages doused in disinfectant were pressed into his skin, causing him to groan some sort of profanity. Before Farrier entirely realised it, he was being stitched.

“Do I need-“

“Yes.”

“I’m not grounded,” he more told than asked,

“You should be, but it’s not like that would stop you anyway. Plus, all things considered we need you in the air,” Miss Anne said. Farrier thanked her and the other nurses and walked slowly back to base with Canfield, piece of shrapnel wrapped in tissue in his hand. He’d wash it and add it to his strange collection, perhaps. It was one of the biggest pieces he’d seen, almost the size of a razorblade. Hopefully there wasn’t much more to come.

It was getting to be a little longer than Collins and Dawson imagined Canfield thought they’d take to have lunch.

“Well, we’re technically on some sort of leave to go and get lunch here, so ah, I don’t think we should stay too much longer,” Dawson said.

“Oh, what are you on duty now?!” Stella asked, Collins was surprised she didn’t already assume so.

“Oh, yeah. Base gets a call, we go up,” Dawson replied.

“Well you two better get back there!” Tilly shrilled, both girls clearly surprised to hear they were on call. All the boys in their household were in the army, save for Charlie who was in the navy on account of his brother being there already. Tilly and Stella were the only people in the whole house now, and it came with an unsettling feeling. Her mind screamed at her to say something to the men before her, to make sure they would come back. Jack was her friend and Stella could tell Dawson was making a real effort to be friends too, and to forget any awkwardness between them. Panic must have shown on her face,

“Donnae worry Stella, we’re home in time for supper every day we’ve been out so far,”

“You’ve been out already?”

“Couple times, ye.”

They all sat quietly for a minute more, before the two blondes caught each others’ eyes and gave the nod of agreement that they needed to get going.

“Well, you two stay warm then,” Collins said.

“We will. I hope we can see you again soon, blondies,” Tilly smiled.

“You will. Come and see us on base, save us getting leave slips to walk down the road!” Dawson laughed.

“Too right, good seeing you two,” Collins agreed.

“Yes it was,” Stella smiled genuinely, looking between the two men. They got up to leave, Tilly giving them both hugs as she often did, it was her way of showing she was happy.

“Bye Jack,” she said quietly.

“Bye Tilly, Stella,” Collins said.

“Bye Alexander-never-Alex,” Stella said with a shy smile, Dawson laughed and shook his head,

“Bye Stella.”

It would be the last time Tilly and Stella ever saw him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading. Bless my memory, I had completely forgotten what was in this chapter so I basically got to read it with no recollection of writing it when editing lol.  
> [ My Tumblr ](https://s-n-o-w-p-i-e-r-c-e-r.tumblr.com)  
> [ Afternoon Pinterest ](https://www.pinterest.com.au/Snovvpiercer/afternoon/)
> 
> If it wasn't immediately obvious to you in the last sentence of this chapter, the next chapter is 'the one'. This is your warning.


	8. Three Weeks Into The War

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't going to say anything at all, but I feel like I really need to. Firstly, nobody will enjoy reading this, I am aware. Secondly, I am also aware that although the 22nd is three weeks from when Germany invaded, that it is two days short of being three weeks from when Britain declared war, but I feel like Peter would have generalised. This date stood out to me and I really feel like I had to write it on this particular day.
> 
> Finally, I'm sorry.

September 22nd.

Three weeks into the war.

It was a cold day, the clouds were dark and low in the sky, threatening to drop rain at any second.

“You love weather like this, don’t you?” Dawson said quietly to Collins as they sat against the back wall, looking out at the two squadrons of planes. It had become normal now to see both sets of planes out and ready to be jumped into, they stood proudly there every day so with book in hand, today Collins was attempting to paint them.

“Sure do,” he smiled.

“Wish the sun would say hello, don’t you think this grey and cold is depressing?”

“Nae, it’s calming.”

Dawson peaked over to see the outlines Collins was making of the planes before he used his paint.

“One thing I don’t think I could ever do is be an artist. No patience, no drawing skills, no creativity either,” he laughed.

“Ye could be some sort of impressionist, maybe some Matisse-esque style,”

“I barely know who that is, mate,” Dawson smiled.

“Don’t worry, I’ll stay in my lane,” he added, causing a chuckle from Collins.

“Well I donnae think I could ever swim like you can.”

“I shall take that as a great compliment,” Dawson said.

“Couldnae control a Hurricane like you either,” Collins chuckled.

“Oh now you’re just taking the piss, c’mon mate,” Dawson smiled.

“No, you c’mon. Take a compliment, yer the lead flyer of our section, you’ve earnt it.”

Dawson eventually smiled down at himself. They sat there for a long time, only getting up to go and see Parker and sit with him in the common room for a while, and chat to the others.

“Well if you’re going to live in England, best be prepared, my fellow,” Turner said to Dawson, who was still looking up at the sky like it had offended him. They all ate their sandwiches in the common room, small talk going around and the radio in the background, Collins caved in and gave the last bite of his sandwich to Parker who had been sitting extremely close to him and staring at it the entire time he ate.

“He can smell the ham in it,” Dawson chuckled.

“I bloody well know he can, little bugger,” Collins said with pursed lips.

“Not so little now, mate,” Dawson said.

“Not big yet either,” Collins countered.

Farrier had managed to keep it from Collins that he’d expelled another piece of shrapnel, he knew he’d have to tell the blonde at some point, but there wasn’t exactly an abundance of opportunities. They were all in the common room now with the dog, who’s ears never actually stood up completely, the very tips still fell forwards. It was endearing, Farrier thought. Soon the two blondes left the room again with the dog, much to the disappointment of the other men who were relying on Parker for entertainment. They took him into the fields behind the airbase, sometimes it was easier to let him run around in them than actually walk him.

“Wonder how Wingnut’s doing,” Dawson muttered.

“I wonder too. I’m sure he’s grand,” Collins replied, though there was a strange feeling about it. The fact that they might not know if he was still alive or not was very unsettling, and Collins didn’t dwell on it long.

“He’ll be loving the bombers, bet he feels a lot safer in them than those,” Dawson said, pointing to the Hurricanes.

“Never did like the smaller planes, did he? I get it, sort of, how exposed ye are, but for me it’s not a bad thing,” Collins said, and Dawson agreed. Then the two heard a whistle being blown in the distance, coming from the building. Suddenly the peaceful atmosphere seeped away.

“Time to go up then,” Dawson said.

“Aye.”

Gatwick, characteristically, hadn’t quite gotten around to putting in a bell to ring for squadron scramble, so a whistle blown by Canfield would have to do. The two walked back, now knowing that eventually Parker would follow once realising they had left. The two reached the runway and saw their squadron already walking out to the planes.

“Shit. Kits on then!” Dawson said, Collins nodded, and they broke into a jog, Parker in leu. They reached the locker room where their kits were, Parker still hanging around their ankles getting excited by whatever was going on. Collins shrugged on his parachute, Mae West, and the rest of it as Dawson did the same.

“More recon no doubt,” he said, Collins hummed in agreement.

Farrier stood outside with Canfield watching 102 prepare, while the rest of his own squadron lazed in the common room.

“Why do they keep going up?”

“Hurricanes, the need to preserve Spits, most likely. Or just chance, honestly I have no idea, boy,” Canfield said quietly. Farrier noticed his fingers tense around the whistle he was still holding, he was stressed.

“It’ll be just like all the others, Michael. It’s reconnaissance,” Farrier said, convincing himself as well as his superior officer.

“I know, you’re right.”

It wasn’t that he was stressed about the flight, however. Canfield was stressed because he was trapped on the ground, no longer flying, not part of a squadron. It was hard sending everyone off and never joining them, never tasting the adventure himself. He told himself to stop being stupid, and continued to watch 102.

The two blondes jogged out of the main building and across the tarmac to join their squadron, Farrier caught Collins’ eye as he rushed to his plane and suddenly, he looked so small next to it. Hurricanes, fighters in general were considered small planes, but that didn’t make them actually small. Dawson stood just taller than Collins and even so, his head didn’t reach the nose of the plane, not nearly. The two scrambled into the cockpits just as the other planes in the squadron began to crank up. Collins was flustered from having to go so quickly from walking in the fields with his dog to his Hurricane, but once he was in the familiar seat of the cockpit looking around at the dashboard, he felt more at peace. He knew this place. He slid the canopy shut over his head and suddenly the world was a lot quieter. He hooked his oxygen mask up and turned on his radio channel, did his checks and strapped himself in. Every sortie so far he’d had a strange feeling in his gut, and this was no different. It was the nerves of a new pilot, he supposed. The brass button on the control column was bright against the dark interior of the rest of the plane. His eyes fixed on it for a moment before he blinked twice and started the plane up, realising everyone else already had.

“He’s freezing again,” Canfield muttered to Farrier.

“I know.”

“He best get up to speed with the rest of them, lest he suffer the consequences.”

“Well what do you want me to do about it? Tell him not to be scared?”

“No, nothing to do. I just hope for the lad’s sake that he can shake off the nerves, and soon.” 

“Give him a break, it’s his third sortie in his life, Canfield. Don’t you remember how it was?” Farrier asked, crossing his arms as the Hurricanes moved out onto the runway.

“Yes, I remember,” Canfield said wistfully.

“You made flying over the enemy territory bearable, just,” Farrier said,

“Glad I did, son. Hopefully there’s someone in there that lightens the mood up for Collins then,” Canfield said.

“I’m sure there are a few. Haven’t gotten to know them all well just yet, but you know Davis can crack a great joke when he’s in the mood,” Farrier smiled. He felt alright about this sortie, he felt confident in 102. They were a strong squadron, especially considering Davis was the only one who wasn’t fresh out of an OTU.

One by one the Hurricanes began to gain speed, tailwheels lifting off the ground as the sheer velocity overrode their weight. Collins was fifth in the line after the three planes in Blue section and Dawson, his section leader. One by one, the twelve planes lifted off the ground, undercarriages lifted back into the bellies of the Hurricanes and as they got rapidly smaller, they began to move into their sections and flights. After watching until the planes faded into the sky, Farrier made to go inside but as soon as he had opened the door, Parker ran straight into his legs. The brunette laughed but the dog didn’t stop until he had run halfway down the runway.

“He’ll be back, Parker,” Farrier said walking up to the dog, who was standing looking at the disappearing squadron, ears pricked.

“Must be strange, seeing your owner hop into a flying machine and disappear into the sky,” Canfield laughed.

The brief today was to relocate the airbase spotted on the first sortie and investigate further. If they could find out how many hangars, or even just buildings there were, it would help apparently. Then as usual there was the refuel at Reims, and then back home.

“102 we’re a bit lower today, but considering the cloud cover, we’d need to be anyway. Not to worry though, right everyone?” Davis said through the radio, met with a chorus of agreement, albeit a little worried sounding. They flew out over the channel, Collins looked over the wing of his plane to see white caps on the water.

“Does anyone else get this weird feeling because you can’t land on water? Like weightlessness but not necessarily in a good way?” Dawson asked vaguely. It was probably the vaguest thing he’d said on radios to date, not addressing anyone in particular and not announcing who was speaking. He was met though, with a chorus of agreement including Collins.

“Though it was just me.”

“Nah mate, it’s weird right?”

“You’ll get used to it lads,” Davis chimed in.

“Have you?” Turner asked.

“Yeah, took a while, but yeah.”

Soon enough they were over the water altogether and had French soil beneath them, Collins was beginning to recognise landmarks and the landscape. He was glad for once, that it wasn’t raining. It seemed difficult to fly in the rain, what with visibility being so low. He’d been told that one could feel a drag on the plane when flying in heavy rain, though it was by Farrier and he had been talking about the fighters he used to fly, so Collins did wonder if much had changed. He checked his map which sat on his knee as he flew, and with perfect timing Davis spoke.

“Into Belgian airspace now, I hope everyone already got that.”

That meant Germany was next. France, Belgium, Germany, France, home. That’s how it had been every single time so far, and would continue to be if they kept doing the same sort of flights, Collins gathered.

“Bloody cold up here, wish I’d worn the Irvin,” Turner complained, saying what was on most of the men’s minds, and only not on the minds of those who actually were wearing their jackets. Before Collins realised, they were over Germany again. If he didn’t look at the map, it wasn’t obvious at all when crossing the border for most of the countries. If he hadn’t come to know some of the landmarks, he’d have no idea he was flying in enemy airspace.

“Right 102. Eyes peeled, angels one-five,” Davis said. Collins always found it interesting how the code for height was angels, as if they were the angels protecting from above. He didn’t know how much he liked the thought that some people might see pilots as such. They dropped down until they reached 15,000 feet above the earth, the height they’d been at when the airbase was spotted in the first place.

“Tannol Leader this is Yellow Two. I spot the same airbase. Do we orbit?” asked Green, who was constantly at the receiving end of jokes regarding squadron sections and the fact that he wasn’t in Green.

“I have it in my sight too, now. Hmm, sky looks clear, set angels one.”

The squadron dropped down further to the point that Collins’ stomach lurched at how close they were to the ground, how exposed they were. It did however provide clear vision of the airbase they were circling.

“Count six buildings?” Collins said,

“Me too,” Davis agreed.

“Cannae tell what they are.”

“I don’t know if we need to at this point. We can’t orbit for long eith-“

Then the flak came out of nowhere, a huge plume of black right next to Davis’ plane.

“Shit. Come on, back to angels two-five!” Davis yelled, though they were well in the range of AA guns, and the flak followed them up as they rose. The black puffs appeared everywhere, randomly, there was no way to see where one would be next. It was horrible and Collins was as on edge as he’d perhaps ever been, gripping the control ring as hard as he could with one hand and the throttle with the other as the explosions happened around him. Then ahead he saw Alan’s plane, Davis’ wingman hit on the tip of the wing. He heard a yell over the radio and saw the plane jump away from the explosion.

“Blue Two, were you hit?” Davis asked.

“Yes, but I think I’m alright. By the looks of it the aileron’s got a chip, but I’ll get her home alright.”

Collins was waiting to hear what Davis had to say when a black cloud appeared next to his plane and he heard an awful metal snap. He looked quickly to see what it was, at first thinking he himself had been hit, but it was Dawson’s plane.

“I’m alright, I think I lost an elevator,” Dawson said, struggle evident in his voice.

“Can you fly her?” Davis asked back.

“I can, I can get her back, it’s okay. It’s okay,” Dawson said, he was holding the control stick at an odd angle to make up for the lack of one elevator on his tail, even so the plane was behaving strangely, and Turner and Collins had both loosened formation because it was so sporadic. Collins watched Dawson’s plane like a hawk, full of worry. They were still in a shallow climb trying to get away from the AA, though Dawson’s plane was trying to push its nose straight into the air and he was close to stalling the left wing which was trying to drag itself downwards.

“Green One, you should increase throttle so that wing doesn’t stall,” Collins said, trying to hide the concern in his voice. The flak hadn’t let up.

“Oh yeah, right, thank y-“ but Dawson didn’t get the chance to finish his sentence as another huge plume of black tore into his plane, this time finding home in the nose. Where the engine was. It was an awful sound, a dull bang as the metal was broken into by the flak. Collins jumped in his seat and gasped as he realised what had happened, as he watched it unfold in front of his eyes.

“Green One, please respond!” Davis said, panicked. The response he got was a jumble of cut off words and radio static. Collins was barely breathing, staring at Dawson’s plane, trying to see into the cockpit, but where the black plumes from the other flak disappeared once they’d exploded, black smoke still poured from the engine of Dawson’s plane, engulfing the entire nose and cockpit. It was as good as flying blind. Suddenly his friend’s plane began to drop altitude, and floated down slowly. Then came another indecipherable sentence from the radio, pieces of desperate voice.  
There was nothing Collins, any of them, could do but watch on in horror as the front end of the plane exploded. Then Dawson screamed, an awful mangled sound cut up by static. The nose began to dip towards the ground.

Then there was silence.

“DAWSON!” Collins yelled, not thinking about protocol, about how loudly everyone else in the squadron could hear him, he was thinking about his best friend who was heading straight for the ground at well over four-hundred miles per hour. Then Dawson’s plane began to turn sideways, one wing over the other in a dizzying spiral, all the while black smoke pouring out leaving a trail through the sky. One of the wings broke off into the air, floating away from the rest of the plane that plummeted in an awful jagged vortex. There was no parachute.

Collins jerked his control hard to the side and pushed his plane down.

“Green Two get back in formation NOW!” came Davis’ voice. Collins didn’t listen.

“I said NOW.” But still Collins tried to get closer to Dawson’s plane, as he flew away from the squadron he came back under heavy flak fire, but it wasn’t that which stayed his hand from pushing the plane down faster.

It was that he watched as Dawson’s plane hit the earth. Watched as it exploded apart, along with his best friend.

His eyes saw it, but it he couldn’t process it. Collins’ face went from determined to completely expressionless. He flew in a straight line, not particularly fast and certainly not in the right direction. It didn’t feel real, nothing did. There was a noise somewhere in the back of his mind, Davis calling him incessantly on the radio. Slowly, Collins reacted and turned back towards the squadron, pulled back on the control column and tried to gain some of the lost altitude. He felt like he had done something irrevocably wrong, turning away from Dawson then, flying in the opposite direction. Like he was abandoning him. His expression remained unreadable, and when he finally got back into 102nd’s formation, nobody said a word. Nobody said a single thing even up until landing at Reims. The crew at the airfield noticed one less plane, didn’t say anything either. The silence was suffocating. Collins sat in his cockpit staring blankly forwards, his mind still trying to wrap itself around what he had seen. He barely noticed when the planes had been refuelled, and could barely hear the engines of the others as they started up again. He followed instinctually, senses and mind both hazy. They were up in the air, not that Collins could remember taking off. He stared at the now empty patch of sky that Dawson’s plane should have been occupying. The Channel appeared below the squadron, and that was when it started to feel real. They were flying home, without Dawson. Dawson wasn’t with them. He was… He was… Collins began to panic, began to feel the weight of it finally hit him. They were over England before he knew it, his mind racing faster than they were to get home.

Farrier and Canfield had been outside for the last half hour, approximating when the squadron might arrive back. They heard the familiar hum of Merlin engines in the distance and a moment after that, they spotted 102. Once the planes got closer, Farrier’s chest tightened.

“Wait.”

Canfield saw it too.

“Michael. There are eleven planes.”

“So it seems,” he said solemnly.

The squadron moved out of formation before Farrier could get a look at which section the plane was missing from, lining up for the runway. The man’s heart was beating so hard he could feel it in his ribcage and hear it in his head, he waited desperately for the Hurricanes to line up and for the pilots to get out. Finally after what seemed like years, the planes came to a halt at the end of the runway and one by one, the men jumped out. Edwards, Scott, Riley, Smith, Brand, Green, Alan, Davis, Peters, and Turner. Farrier felt sick and panicked and scared and- then Collins got out too. But the look on his face told Farrier who hadn’t come home before his mind had realised which man was missing by name. Davis walked up to the senior officers, Farrier hadn’t even realised he was close to them at all.

“We lost a man.”

“Dawson,” Farrier said, and speaking the words gave him another sick feeling. The first loss at Gatwick of the war. The best flyer out of Gatwick’s training program. Collins’ best friend. Nothing else needed to be said, it was obvious that it wasn’t the sort of loss that would mean a P.O.W. letter from the Red Cross, or even the sort that would mean Dawson turning back up on the doorstep with an elaborate story of how he got home. Davis took his leave and the two senior officers were left with the news.

Collins watched his squadron disappear inside. He walked away from his plane alone for the first time. It was always he and Dawson who were the stragglers at the back of the group, who walked in together. Even Turner had gone quiet and walked off with the others instead of waiting for Collins as he occasionally did. He just wanted Dawson to be here. He didn’t understand, he was angry, he was scared. Finally, tears threatened as Collins tried his hardest to stay composed as he walked. Try as he might to use his distress training, nothing prepared someone for the real thing. And Collins never did listen about not getting too close. He reached the door where Farrier and Canfield stood, and he very slowly raised his gaze to Farrier’s, who couldn’t hold the strong look in his eyes, and went soft as soon as he saw Collins’ baby blues look at him that way.

“Collins, I’m sorry.”

“Take me… To RAF Wattisham.”

His manner of speaking was very deliberate, and Farrier knew Collins was fighting with tears.

“Go inside, you need to be with your squadron,” Farrier said. He knew Davis would be giving some sort of talk in one of the common rooms now. Collins didn’t argue. When the blonde found his way into the common room, everyone lifted their heads at him and then dropped them back down.

“I was just saying, Collins. It’s not easy. I’m not going to go on a long spiel about Dawson, it won’t do any good. I…” Davis kept talking, but Collins stopped listening. He watched the fields outside through the window, where he and Dawson had been walking around with Parker earlier that day, and then it began to rain.

“Go on lads. Look after yourselves, please,” Davis said. Collins lingered in the room for a moment, and he and Davis exchanged curt nods before the blonde took his leave. Parker was in the courtyard, seeing his face broke through the strange haze in Collins’ mind for a second. He let the dog in out of the wet, but immediately Parker could sense the mood. For once he didn’t jump up on Collins, didn’t bark in his face.

“Hey, boy. I’m back,” Collins said quietly, but the words reminded him that someone else wasn’t back. His heart leapt into his throat and he felt emotion roiling beneath the surface. He had to try again and get Farrier to drive him. He found Farrier and Canfield both in Canfield’s office. The officers looked up with solemn expressions.

“Collins, come and sit,” Canfield said. He knew it was hard on everyone, but he also knew that Collins wasn’t very good at making friends, and that Dawson had been his best.

“Farrier, I need ye to drive me to Wingnut.”

“Why don’t you just sit down for a minu-“

“I need you to.”

Farrier looked at Canfield. The older man’s eyes were sad and tired.

“You remember the first. It’s not the same, is it Tom?” he said, and nodded his head in the direction of the door, giving permission for them both to go off base.

Farrier of course remembered the first. The first pilot he’d known personally who had died. And Canfield was right, because after the first came the shock of reality which forced you to actually not get close enough to anyone that it would hurt you as much as the first did. Farrier’s first had been Max Chambers. He and Max had sort of been friends, they would ride bicycles together in off times, Max had been a competitor in the aeroplane competitions Canfield entered. Farrier knew now it was best not to dwell on memories of old friends like that, it never did any good, save for perhaps right now, remembering what he’d felt then and looking at Collins, and what he must feel now, but probably worse. After being written leave slips, they left the office together in silence and walked out the front door into the rain. Parker nosed his way into Canfield’s office, giving the man something else to focus on. He could feel his emotions coming back to the surface too. The first would always be the first.

The two hour drive to RAF Wattisham was torturous for both Farrier and Collins. The pouring rain did little to drown out the blonde’s horrible thoughts, given the downtime now his mind was piecing together what he saw. Farrier didn’t know what to feel. Half of him was going back behind his walls, it wasn’t his first death, emotional distress training was there and his instinct to not dwell or think about Dawson was kicking in. On the other hand however, Farrier actually _wanted_ to feel something. He needed to be there for Collins and that meant being sympathetic and, if need be, emotionally compromised. Each little glance sideways at the blonde gave Farrier an awful sinking feeling in his gut as he tried to keep his eyes on the road. It wasn’t like he could say “it’s okay”, because it wasn’t. Still, Farrier had expected Collins to cry and he wasn’t, but the haunted expression on his face was arguably worse. It was a look Farrier had never hoped to see in Collins’ eyes and had already seen a few glimpses of before, he just prayed that it didn’t remain there.

Canfield had the grim job of writing to Dawson’s family. He slowly got out the stack of pre-printed K.I.A. letters from his desk drawer, and carefully filled one out with Dawson’s information. It didn’t feel like it was enough. It never had, it never would. He wanted to attach another letter, one he’d actually written, but Canfield knew then that if he did it for one man, he would feel compelled to do it for all of them, and he wasn’t sure if he could do that.

“He…” Collins said over the rain, but he never finished his sentence. His blue eyes looked out the window to the little towns and country whizzing past as Farrier drove, he looked up to the dark clouds above, tried to look somewhere that might help calm him. For once, nature didn’t. He resigned himself to watching Farrier drive, occasionally looking out of the windscreen to the road in front of them.

“Collins,” Farrier said, unable to take his eyes off the road not for fear of crashing but fear of what he might see in his partner’s face.

“I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry Collins.”

There came no answer, so Farrier was forced to glance at Collins. The man was staring forwards, glassy eyed.

“He was doing what he loved,” Farrier said.

“Stop.”

Farrier was trying to help, but nothing would now and his words were pushing Collins closer to losing it. They sat the rest of the car ride in silence, as more time passed the blonde tried harder and harder to remain calm, stoic, strong. He asked himself who he was being strong for, Farrier wouldn’t care if he wasn’t, he came to the conclusion that it was essentially his training. One thing Collins’ mother cared about was letting people know when one wasn’t alright, even men, something the blonde always appreciated in her. The car stopped as he was in mid-thought about his mum.

“We’re here.”

It was a lot bigger than Gatwick, more imposing and much more modern.

“I won’t be long,” Collins said, implying Farrier should stay in the car. He did no such thing as Collins got out, both of them walking in the rain up to the front door of Wattisham base, which had a considerably sized portico to stand under. Collins knocked on the wooden doors.

“Let me,” Farrier said, and stood next to Collins, the blonde stepping back. He knew he wouldn’t be able to carry a conversation. Soon, someone answered the knocking.

“Can I help you?” asked an officer, not much older than Farrier.

“Apologies, this is completely out of place but, we’re from Fighter Command. Actually, we’re here on personal business. Flying Officer Collins has a friend here and… Well, he’d like to speak with him,” Farrier said. There wasn’t really a more eloquent way to explain it.

“Is it urgent business? This is very out of the ordinary, we can’t just have people on pleasure visits all th-“

Farrier cut him off in a hushed tone which Collins couldn’t hear.

“I… Look. A friend of theirs died today. Obviously this isn’t exactly protocol but… Surely you’ve lost men.”

“I served in the first war. I know how it is.”

“Then you know how the first one is.”

The officer sighed and pursed his lips.

“Laddie, I’m sorry. Who is it you’re after?” he asked over Farrier’s shoulder.

“Timson,” Collins managed in a small voice.

The officer disappeared, and Farrier stepped back right to the edge of the portico to give Collins space. It was an immensely private moment, delivering such news. Soon enough Wingnut appeared in the doorway. Wattisham hadn’t lost anyone yet, Timson was no more experienced in the business of war.

“Collins! God mate good to see-“ he said, but as he went in for a hug he stopped.

“Collins?”

The blonde bowed his head and the corners of his mouth turned downwards as his final wall broke down.

“It’s Dawson.”

Timson’s smile disappeared that instant, and as Collins’ eyes met the brunette’s the first tears fell. He took a slow step towards his friend before he was engulfed in emotion, Wingnut hugged Collins tightly and the blonde let out a hard sob into his shoulder. It was so much to process, that Dawson was… Gone. That he wouldn’t have even known if Collins hadn’t come all the way out here. Then Timson was crying too. He looked up with red eyes to Farrier, who he hadn’t even noticed was there. The man gave a solemn nod, and the look in Timson’s eyes was one which hurt Farrier. To see these young men grow up so fast, in the span of one afternoon, and that he couldn’t stop it.

Timson pulled away sniffing.

“Well, hope he’s having a good one up there,” Timson tried to smile, but ended up making things worse.

Farrier couldn’t watch it. He turned his back to look out onto the street, pouring with rain. War was a monster, and it made monsters of everyone. Nobody got out unscathed, some didn’t get out at all. He just wished it didn’t have to be like this. He wished Dawson hadn’t gone, he wished Collins wasn’t so close to Dawson and for a split second, Farrier wished he wasn’t so close to Collins. The thought disappeared as Farrier realised how ludicrous it was, how untrue it was and how selfish to even think such a thing borne purely of his wishes to stay away from emotional turmoil. After a long time spent standing on the portico of RAF Wattisham, Wingnut and Collins decided they needed to get back.

“Thank you. For coming all this way.”

“There was nothing else I could have done. He... He was our best friend.”

They hugged once more, both men trying to take deep breaths.

“We need to keep in contact. Write or phone,” Timson said.

“Yes dear,” Collins replied, both of them cracking the first smiles to each other.

“But I will. You too.”

“I will, not like we’re doing anything else here,” Wingnut said, confirming Collins’ suspicions that it wasn’t just Gatwick that barely had any action.

It was hard for them to walk away from each other. Hard after not seeing each other for so long, and knowing how quickly life could just disappear. But both of them knew they couldn’t stand in the doorway forever talking about feelings.

“I think,” Collins said, before getting choked up.

“I think we should have our own funeral.”

Wingnut looked down, tried to keep his emotions under wrap, and failed. He had to take several deep breaths before answering.

“We will. Maybe Stella and her friend? I could try and get Lucy to come,” he asked, trying to ignore the way his voice wobbled.

“I think that’s a grand idea.”

“Well are we going to have to go book a place and everything?” Wingnut asked.

“I think we should do our own. In the field,” Collins said,

“At the tree,” Wingnut agreed.

“Try and get leave for Monday, send a telegraph if you can, or call.”

“I’ll let you know. All things considered, shouldn’t be a problem.”

They finally parted, Wingnut went inside and Collins followed Farrier to the car.

“You did a very brave thing today Collins.”

“I did what needed to be done.”

“That doesn’t make it any less so,” Farrier said as they sat in the car, waiting for the engine to warm a little before driving. The man held his hand out, Collins stared at it for a moment, looked up to Farrier, and then took it. Collins’ hand was cold and he wasn’t holding Farrier’s strongly at all.

“I love you,” Farrier said solemnly. He knew it wouldn’t bring Dawson back, but hopefully it reminded Collins, woke something up in the dark back of his mind, that there were people who cared for him and who would be with him, support him.

“I love you too.”

And then they began the long drive back to Gatwick, by the time they arrived it would be almost dark.

Collins would never really get over losing Dawson. It felt like Collins lost a piece of himself along with him, the piece that didn’t realise how serious war was, didn’t realise friends could be playing with the dog before a sortie and then fall out of the sky less than an hour later, the piece that held such naivety and thought that _maybe_ , no one would die.

That night Collins wanted to be alone. Needed to be alone. Not even Parker would make him feel any better. Not even Farrier. Collins sobbed into his pillow, he felt sadness deeper than ever before, he felt guilty, angry, confused, scared, and as the thunderstorm rolled in during the early hours of the morning, he finally fell asleep from exhaustion, sparing him of the continuous flashbacks he was already getting.

Farrier knew, from as soon as he saw Collins jump out of the plane that afternoon, that he would never be the same.


	9. Blue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not really sure what to say this week. I know the last chapter was hard to read, and this likely won't be as shocking but please be prepared for mourning.   
> I also nearly fainted donating blood on saturday and this has happened twice in a row now, 3 times in a row and i get banned from donating ): not sure if anyone cared about that but hey ! trying not to think about the contents of this chapter !!

Collins woke the next morning, and for a split second his mind was bereft of thoughts of what had happened the day before. But then he remembered, and his stomach sank, his heart felt heavy and he felt sick. _Don’t think about it,_ he told himself. It was hard not to. Impossible. He put on his uniform slowly and deliberately, combed his hair, shined his shoes, and walked downstairs into the kitchen. It was cold and Collins let his fingers get numb instead of shoving his hands in his pockets, they’d warm up soon once he’d made his cup of tea. _Don’t think about him,_ Collins thought. Still impossible. He poured water into the mug and then for the first time, Collins looked out the window through the half open curtains of the kitchen. It was drizzling and grey, and still quite dark. The blonde was surprised at how early it was when he glanced at his watch and realised why nobody else was up yet, it was surprising because without an alarm he never got up before the sun. He supposed it was the start of a long day then.

Farrier was the first to wander into the kitchen and was very surprised to see Collins up so early.

“Morning, Collins.”

“Morning.”

He knew the blonde wouldn’t want to talk about it, so Farrier avoided the topic of Dawson entirely, hoping it would help Collins stop dwelling on it. He hadn’t even had the chance to properly console his partner, but he didn’t know if he would. Farrier desperately hoped so, but like anything he wasn’t going to push, it would be worse if he pushed for this.

“New orders from the Ministry got faxed through today.”

“Oh ye? What do they want now?”

“More men and planes for each squadron so that a rotation can be implemented.”

“Oh, that’s actually good.”

“I agree. They want 24 pilots and 16 planes, they’re telling us now because they want it all up and running in the new year,” Farrier said, boiling the kettle.

He poured his cup and realised there was already a mug sitting there, Collins’. There was no steam rising from it, how long had it been there?

“Pet, is this your tea?”

“Mm.”

So Farrier went outside and found the milk bottle delivery on the front step, and made Collins’ tea for him, because the blonde clearly wasn’t interested in doing it himself.

“I’m going to try and get leave on Monday,” Collins said quietly as he looked out the window. Farrier poured milk into the mug and set it down on the windowsill next to his partner. His fingers brushed over Collins’ deliberately, a silent message that he cared, he was there.

“God your fingers are cold!”

“I know.”

Even this was hard to watch, Collins not being able to bring himself to make a cup of tea, to even warm his own hands up.

“Drink up, Collins.”

After a delayed reaction the blonde did drink his tea, still looking out the window.

“How do I get leave? Ask Canfield?”

“Yeah, it shouldn’t be a problem, do you want it all day?”

“Preferably.”

Farrier had a feeling that because Collins hadn’t said why he wanted leave, that it was to do with Dawson. He didn’t say anything, just hoped he’d find out about the leave at some point. He wished he wasn’t so damned awful with feelings, he didn’t even know how to offer the support he so desperately wanted to give.

There were no sorties all day and the light rain didn’t stop once. At lunch time Collins asked for another lunch leave slip from Canfield, as well as asked about Monday. He was already hating how obviously everyone was avoiding the subject of his friend.

“Well, I don’t see why not, what type of leave shall I write it down as?”

“Personal.”

So he did, Collins watched as the man signed the slip of paper and wrote the date it was valid for.

“Thank you Canfield, means a lot.”

“Not to worry chap, wouldn’t be surprised if there isn’t any action then anyway.”

Collins attempted a smile that didn’t make it onto his face as far as he could tell, and left with a nod of his head. Today, he had to go and see the girls and tell them. He took his lunch slip and left the base, using the slip not to get lunch but to make the trip to Stella and Tilly’s house. He didn’t even care if he didn’t get any lunch today, Collins wasn’t in the mood to do anything. He supposed maybe it would be okay for Tilly, she’d only met Dawson a couple of times. Collins didn’t want to think about how Stella would be, but he wanted to be there. He hated that things could happen and nobody would know, that if he didn’t walk himself down to their house that they’d find out merely by seeing that Dawson just wasn’t there anymore. It angered Collins and he began walking faster down the footpath towards their house, the wind whipping around his heels not bothering him at all, if anything somehow making him more irritated. He wasn’t entirely sure what he was irritated about apart from the general situation.

Once he reached their doorstep however, his anger disappeared. Why had he done this to himself? He didn’t have to do it in person, he could have called, or sent a letter, or actually just waited for them to find out down the line. Now he had to deliver the news to two girls, one of whom Collins already knew was fragile. He took a deep breath, he had to do it this way, it didn’t matter that it wasn’t easy for him, he had to do it. Collins knocked on the door loudly, the coldness in the air and on the door hurting his knuckles more than they usually might. He waited, hands in pockets, trying to imagine how he might react to someone opening the door, probably should have considered it beforehand but hadn’t.

It was Tilly who opened,

“Oh, hello you!” She smiled, though when Collins didn’t smile back, hers dropped.

“Stella in?”

“Of course, why?”

“Need to tell you both something.”

Collins didn’t remember being invited inside and sat down at the kitchen table. He didn’t remember asking where everyone else was, and didn’t remember being told that every single other housemate had gone off to join the military at the first mention of war. Suddenly his thoughts became very clear, and he realised just how silent everything was.

“Jack?” Stella said quietly. The blonde almost jumped. He fiddled with sleeve under the table and bit his lip.

“Dawson….. Um, he….”

Tilly looked over at Stella in alarm, then at Collins, waiting on anything else he might say to somehow reverse what had just come out of his mouth. Stella was staring at the table.

“He… He passed.”

Collins couldn’t bring himself to make eye contact with either of the women sat across from him, instead he stared at the table and tried his hardest not to cry. It was so sudden, unexpected, nobody had been ready. Nobody was saying anything and Collins could feel his cheeks reddening.

“I, uh… I came to tell you because… I was wondering if you wanted to attend something on Monday for him. Just small, just me and Wingnut, maybe his girlfriend,” Collins said, voice wobbling.

“Yes.”

It had been Stella who answered, she was still frozen and her gaze hadn’t moved from the table, even when Collins’ finally lifted to look at her and Tilly.

“Yes we will,” Stella said definitively. Her eyes were glazed over and though she’d said the words, it didn’t sound like she’d registered her own speech.

“I… Thank both of you,” Collins stuttered, trying to gulp down his feelings rapidly boiling to the top.

“Jack. I’m sorry. I can’t imagine it, we all had lunch, and it was so… Nice. And now, I’m sorry,” Tilly said quietly. Collins hadn’t seen her upset before, he’d seen Stella in plenty of moods but Tilly was always bubbly.

“Happens. War, all that.”

“Yes, but he was special to you.”

“Best just tae get on with it, s’what they tell us. Don’t think about it, don’t dwell,” Collins said taking a deep breath afterwards to try and force the tears back down.

Tilly didn’t like that strategy, bottling things up never ended well for anyone. She supposed though, that she could see some sort of benefit. If you didn’t allow yourself time to mourn or contemplate, you didn’t allow time to destroy yourself.

“You shouldn’t have made military friends,” Collins almost laughed.

“Didn’t mean to,” Stella shot back, with an almost smile on her face, eyes still dark.

They all sat in silence for a while, before Tilly took one of Collins’ hands under the table. After a kneejerk reaction to pull his hand away, he let it happen. Then his other hand was taken by a much colder Stella’s hand, and as the girls raised his hands onto the table, he saw they were holding hands too.

“Circle of friendship,” Tilly said, and Stella nodded.

“Not sure what I did tae deserve you two, but thank you,” Collins said, and somehow that was the closest he’d been to tears since entering the house. Soon after, Tilly got up to make tea for everyone.

“I can’t be long, I’m on lunch leave.”

“We won’t take long, it’s just some tea,” the redhead said with a ghost of a smile.

“Want one Stel?” she asked, somewhat knowing the answer. Tilly never got said answer, which in Stella’s way was an answer in itself. There was still a hot cup of tea set down in front of her even though she glared at it like it had personally offended her. Stella sat on the chair with her legs drawn up against her body, arms wrapped around them.

“Here we are, at least warm your hands up Jack, they were freezing. In fact so were yours,” Tilly said to Stella.

“I run cold, you know that,” was the answer said back quietly.

Collins didn’t want to drink it, but he forced himself to, mostly to be polite. The hot liquid burned down his throat but it didn’t matter, nothing could compare to what Dawson went through, Collins thought to himself. There was such a strong surge of emotion as he sat there with the mug against his lips, and the only reason he didn’t burst out crying was because he was in the process of drinking and would have choked.

“Do they give you any rest?” Tilly asked.

“Well, there’s not much action as you know, Phoney War they’re callin’ it and all that, but soon we’ll be getting more men to fulfill some new Air Ministry standard of more men than you need for a squadron, so we can all get rest. I think the plan is one or two days off in seven.”

“Well that’s something, isn’t it?”

Collins nodded numbly.

“I should go,” he mumbled.

“Jack, thank you for coming here to tell us,” Stella said, for the first time her eyes actually meeting Collins’ own. It worried him that he couldn’t read her expression, just like it worried him when he couldn’t read Farrier’s.

“It’s fine. I’m sorry.”

He got up and began to walk straight to the front door before hearing footsteps behind him.

“Hey.”

Tilly put a hand on his shoulder, Collins turned to the feeling but his mind was distant.

“Will you be alright?” she asked, and Collins had to think for a moment.

“Yeah, I’ll be alright,” he said quietly. Slowly Tilly pulled him into a hug, and looking over her shoulder Collins saw Stella, staring into herself, still with her legs pulled up to her chest, still with a full cup of tea on the table. Collins almost whispered his next words as Tilly let go.

“Is she going to be?”

Tilly sighed and turned briefly.

“She’s good at keeping it inside. It’s terrible business, really. I’ll make sure she’s okay,” Tilly reassured the blonde.

“Oh and Jack?”

“Mm?”

“If, when you get those days off each week you feel like you want to get off base, because I know you’re a boarder and all but, if you want to get away from the RAF, you’re always welcome to stay here.”

“I… Thank you Tilly, you’re being awfully kind to me, donnae know if I deserve it,” Collins smiled.

“Of course you do, silly. Now, don’t let your officers get suspicious. I hope we’ll see you soon?”

“I hope so too. Stay safe,” Collins said, not entirely knowing what he meant by the phrase, but deciding it was a fine thing to say nonetheless.

“You too, blondie.”

The cold air hit Collins like a face full of water. He walked back to base with his hands in his pockets and a feeling of almost content. He felt like he’d done the right thing, and that Dawson would have wanted him to. As he walked back there was a droning of planes in the distance somewhere, and the blonde didn’t register it until a few seconds after hearing the sound. He knew the low hum anywhere, they were friendlies with Merlin engines, and with that thought Collins stopped worrying about it. The wind picked up and his hair blew wildly, ears on the verge of numbness as he wound through the streets, just wanting to be back inside from his ‘lunch’. When he did get back, he saw that it had been the Spitfire squadron he’d heard, who were getting back from a short afternoon flight, maybe for gravity training again, considering how little real action there was. Farrier jumped out onto the wing, he’d felt guilty the whole time because Collins hadn’t been around to see before going up, so the brunette was overly glad, more than he should have been, to see him wandering out to look at his squadron come in, an almost lost look on his face.

Once inside, Collins followed Farrier’s squadron into their common room where some of his own squadron were anyway, as was Parker. Farrier had been feeding him today, knowing the blonde likely wasn’t in the right mind to care for an animal. Collins sat for a few minutes, listening to the buzz of the room, the men talk about their G tolerance training, how it felt today. Listened to how they spoke of the weather, how they’d logged it in their books, talked to each other in the way that all airmen did- like old friends, even though they weren’t, and knew that they might not ever get to be. Everyone was leaving Collins alone and it was deafening. Everyone except Parker of course, and the man couldn’t have been gladder that he’d found that dog, sometimes Parker understood what the people around him couldn’t, and sometimes the attention of an animal who couldn’t speak in words was more than enough and better than any conversation had with anyone else. With a look in Farrier’s direction, catching his eye, Collins stood and left with Parker. It was an invitation if Farrier would want to take it, and the man knew it. He’d been meaning to talk more to Collins, though the blonde seemed to be making himself scarce, and it worried Farrier.

It was as Canfield walked up the hallway in the direction of the common room that he saw Collins walking out of it with the dog. He was somewhat relieved that he’d finally returned from his lunch leave, which for some reason had taken about an hour even though one could almost walk the entirety of Gatwick town in that time.

Once Collins was at the top of the stairs with Parker, he let out a sigh. Everything was so quiet, and even if Dawson might not usually have been here with him at this time, for some reason it felt _so_ quiet now. He dreaded walking past that bedroom now.

“It’s okay,” Tilly said. She knew it wasn’t, but she didn’t know what to say. Stella was still staring into her own thoughts at the table.

“It isn’t.”

“I know, I know. I just… He was doing what he loved, remember that,” Tilly tried.

“I can’t believe how rude I was to him,” Stella countered.

“Rude?”

“He fancied me, I turned him down.”

“Stella, you can’t take it out on yourself like that, it isn’t fair. It’ll do no good, and of course he would have understood, you said you were spoken for. You didn’t lie to him, and you most certainly weren’t rude to him,” Tilly said, taking Stella’s hands in hers. The brunette looked at Tilly, her dark eyes so full of guilt and sadness.

“I just wish I could have explained, and told him everything, even though we can’t just tell people I just wish-“

But as Stella got more hysterical Tilly hushed her and stood her up, pulling the woman close, stroking her hair.

“If you really want to, I think he will listen.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, just because he… Just because he’s in the sky, doesn’t mean he can’t hear you Stel,” Tilly said, running a thumb over Stella’s cheek, which was hot with emotion. Stella hadn’t considered that, and hearing those words was somehow comforting, if she could feel such a thing at a time like this.

“Hey, pet. How are things?” Farrier asked, he’d finally found a moment to slip away upstairs, he knew Collins had wanted him to go and visit, there were ways between them, glances, gazes that only they would understand.

“Things are things,” Collins said, he was sat on his bed with the window open, making his room cold for who knew what reason. His hand was vaguely patting Parker’s head as he sat on the floor next to him, though there was no real intent behind it and his hand was moving very slowly. Farrier sat down on the bed and turned Collins to face him. His eyes were sad, scared. The brunette pulled Collins into a hug, wrapped his arms around him so tightly, tried his hardest to just hold him, thinking maybe if he held on tight enough he could transfer some of the pain off Collins’ shoulders. Eventually the blonde’s arms wrapped themselves around Farrier too, and then he was nuzzling into the brunette’s shoulder. Farrier swallowed hard, it wasn’t easy to see Collins like this, to know how much emotion he was feeling. After several minutes of embrace, the blonde felt a little calmer. Farrier’s scent carried through his nostrils and he eventually let go of the man, who stood up and walked to the window.

“Can I shut this?” he asked,

“Why? Cold?”

“A little, yeah.”

Collins nodded, though it was clear he didn’t actually want the window shut.

“Aren’t you cold?” Farrier asked, staying his hand from closing it just yet, wanting an answer first.

“…Yes, that’s why it’s open.”

The older man sighed and closed the window.

“And do you want to be cold?”

“…Yes.”

Farrier sat down on the bed, his hand wandered onto Parker’s head and there it met Collins’.

“Don’t do that to yourself.”

“He went through more, if I cannae handle a little cold then what am I? Plus, it’s calming,” Collins said blankly. That sentence was very out of character for Collins and it shocked Farrier.

“I know how hard it is for you, I _know_. This isn’t what Dawson would want, and just because he ‘went through more’, does not mean you freeze yourself until you join him,” Farrier said sternly. His words were blunt but they needed to be to cut through the thick haze of fog which had settled over Collins’ mind.

“You didn’t go to get lunch, did you?”

“No. I went to Stella and Tilly’s house. Told them.”

Farrier sighed again. This isn’t what he ever wanted to see happen to Collins, and it wasn’t even at a time when he had flying to focus on, barely any of that was happening at all.

“It’s admirable that you did that, pet. But please, come and eat.”

“I-“

“I know you don’t want to, but come and do it anyway,” Farrier said, and it wasn’t because he used a harsh tone, but because he spoke so softly, that Collins complied.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think everyone was expecting a funeral straight after, but I am physically unable to write anything in any manner of succinctness and must draw out every single day so I apologise.  
> [ my tumblr ](https://s-n-o-w-p-i-e-r-c-e-r.tumblr.com)  
> [ afternoon pinboard ](https://pinterest.com.au/snovvpiercer/afternoon/)  
> Until next chapter, stay safe everyone ❤️


	10. Somewhere Over The Rainbow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this is it. I thought this was a really short chapter when I proofread but it's actually longer than usual. Not sure what to say about this one, I hope everyone had a good week and that you are all safe and healthy.
> 
> It's time to officially say goodbye.

Collins didn’t remember much of Sunday, everything seemed like a blur and he honestly wished they would send him up in the air more, to war more, anything to get his mind off Dawson.

It was Monday morning and Collins had woken early, the low mist was still settled in the grassy fields beyond the runway, the air was still blue and cold and as Collins rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and went about getting his uniform on, he began to feel an overwhelming sense of nerves. He hadn’t planned what he’d say, what they’d even do. He supposed they’d all meet up and go stand in the field, say a few words and then leave. It didn’t feel like enough. Nothing would, but Collins knew he had to try harder than that. He walked outside as soon as his boots were on, not bothering with breakfast or tea, but somewhat wishing he’d made something warm after his nose promptly began to get very cold in the morning air. The base was still half asleep, there were a few men around opening the hangars, checking the windsock, the tarmac, the signalling flags. Collins walked past them all to the last shed before the fields began, the only place he knew that was actually a storage shed for bits and pieces, and not either a hangar or a bigger shed full of kits and engine parts. He shoved the door open, not remembering much from the only other time he’d been inside the place under very different circumstances. There were wooden shelves, on which sat very old looking tins of paint, hammers and screwdrivers, rags, and then Collins saw what he’d hoped to find. Wooden stakes, the ones which the chicken wire was wrapped around when Parker didn’t have anywhere else except a closed off area of grass to roam. They’d have to do. Just his luck, along with the hammer there were nails, rusty and most were bent, but nails. The cold winter light of the morning sun shone through the cracks in the old shed’s corrugated tin walls, haphazardly nailed to planks of wood which looked half rotten anyway. Collins wedged one of the wooden stakes against one of the shed’s shelves and pushed it into the bare hard soil. He stood and after a breath, stomped on it as hard as he could to break it. It worked, and one end splintered away. Collins almost cried at how crude it was. Then a thought crossed his mind.

If he was actually going to make a cross for Dawson, did it mean he would have to make one for anyone else? What if there was another, and then he didn’t make a cross, what would his squadron think? He sat back in the dirt without a thought of his clean blue uniform.

“I’m sorry.”

He was saying it to Dawson. Collins felt guilty, not just for now feeling like he shouldn’t make a cross, but he was Dawson’s wingman. He was supposed to look out for him. A voice in the back of the blonde’s head told him there was nothing that could have been done, you could never really see flak until it exploded, it wasn’t like an enemy plane coming at you from afar. There was no warning. Tears threatened as he sat there, fingers fiddling with the cold hard earth and the nails that sat near him. How his life had changed so quickly. He felt like his mind wasn’t as clear, like there was a fog over it always. He felt a cold sadness that had settled deep in him from the loss.   
Collins raised his head slightly and looked at the light beams that shone in front of him through the shed, how the dirt and dust particles in the air danced in the light. It was very sudden, the strange feeling that overcame him. In that moment, it felt like… Dawson was there. Like he was present. Collins put it down to grief, but he could almost hear his friend’s sunny voice saying, “It’s okay, mate.”

He quickly stood up and left the shed.

“Is it okay?” Stella asked.

“Yes, for the final time Stel, your dress is fine,” Tilly said, trying to smile as she put on her own clothing. She looked over to the other woman, Stella was picking at a scab she had on her knuckle from grazing it while walking past a brick wall. Tilly walked over and pulled Stella’s fingers away from it.

“Don’t do that.”

“I’m nervous.”

“It’s going to be okay,” Tilly said softly, and fixed a stray hair on Stella’s head.

“I just wish… Well I wish there wasn’t a war, all our boys have run off to fight it too,” Stella said.

“I know. But I’m sure they’re all doing okay. Probably all in the same unit,” Tilly said, trying to calm the brunette’s nerves.

“And they’ll write to us eventually, won’t they?”

“Yes Stella, they will. And whenever the war is over, they will all come home and we will play music together again.”

That got a small smile out of Stella, and in a rare display of affection, she pulled Tilly in for a hug. They stood together in the morning light for a moment, frozen in time. Then they parted, and Stella leaned in and pressed her lips to Tilly’s briefly.

“Promise it’ll be okay?” she asked.

“I promise,” Tilly replied, holding out her pinky finger which Stella took in hers. The redhead had something planned today.

Wingnut’s journey had started in the early hours of the morning, finding trains and connecting routes that would get him down to Gatwick at some sort of respectable time. Lucy knew what was going on, but wasn’t able to get leave. She hoped Wingnut would be alright alone, Lucy was so much stronger than Timson ever thought he’d be. He knew she’d already known death, she delivered planes to so many bases, it was obvious the day she’d heard news of the first lad. She was different, closed off and angry. Lucy was so resilient, she always picked herself back up, and Wingnut too when he needed it. But, today was a day he had to face alone. He sat on the train trying to make his tie perfect, fiddling with his hair, fidgeting, bobbing his knee. His mind didn’t know how to process the fact that Dawson was gone. His base hadn’t lost anyone yet, and he almost felt guilty for transferring to Bomber Command because it meant he wasn’t there those last few months, it meant he grew apart from the two blondes, and he wasn’t there when Dawson went down.

Collins was standing with Parker in the cold wet morning dew on the grass under the tree that grew in the field. Those he’d told about what was happening today knew where he’d be, knew what time he’d be there. He raised his head at a noise, it was Wingnut appearing through the grass. He was dressed in a black suit, something that on that boy looked so plain and odd, more so than Collins thought his own looked on him. The brunette walked up to Collins and embraced him. They breathed together for a moment, before Wingnut let go with a sad smile. He didn’t know what to say, and he’d come to learn that sometimes nothing needed to be said at all. Lucy had taught him that. The two stood silently for quite a few minutes, listening to the birds wake up, the cold breeze blow through the tree above them.

“No Lucy?” Collins asked.

“No, she couldn’t get leave.”

It was quiet again after that for several minutes.

“Those the officers’ identity disks?” Wingnut asked, his voice cutting through the silence. He was looking up at Canfield and Farrier’s disks in the tree.

“Yes. I put them back.”

There weren’t any more questions about them after Wingnut realised that it didn’t appear that Dawson’s identity disks were recovered.

“Collins, mate. I… I just need to know. How did he-“ Wingnut began to ask, but Collins’ gaze shifted over his shoulder. Tilly and Stella had arrived, the brunette turned to see the two women walking through the long grass in the field towards them, both holding the ends of their black dresses up to keep them from getting too wet. Collins had a vague thought about how impossible it could be that they both looked lovely on a day like this, but it was cut off when the two reached him. It was Tilly who hugged him first, and Stella bravely hugged Timson, not someone she knew awfully well, but if there was ever a day to offer condolences it was today, and sometimes she wasn’t so good with wording things in ways that didn’t somehow make things worse.

“I’m sorry,” Tilly whispered in Collins’ ear as she hugged, and the blonde felt a hard pang in his chest at the words.

“Thank you.”

She let go, and was replaced by Stella’s much smaller frame in his arms. She didn’t say anything, and Collins was almost glad. He didn’t realise how hard it would be to speak today.

They all stood still then, all in their black and with solemn expressions.

“Uh… Well, thank ye all for making your ways down here today,” Collins said, hands in pockets.

“Today,” he said, and took a deep breath.

“Today… On this beautiful sunny day that he would have given anything to see,” Collins said, and stopped once more to collect himself.

“We remember Alexander Dawson.”

It didn’t even feel real. He was talking and bantering with Dawson a handful of days ago on this very field with this very dog by his side. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky, and as the cold wind blew out over the field, Collins summed up the courage to continue.

“He was always too kind to us, too kind for his own good. We were so lucky to have him.”

It was like a train, once it started moving it was so hard to stop, so the words flowed from Collins’ mouth without him fully realising they were.

“He took everything in his stride, he had the most positive outlook on the world, and he shared it with everyone. Dawson knew when someone was gloomy, and he always tried to do everythin’ he could. I did everything I could that day, but… But it wasn’t enough and… I’m sorry.”

Collins had tears streaming down his face. A rough hand on his shoulder shook him a little. Wingnut. He looked sideways at his friend.

“It’s not your fault, Collins. It was his time. Nothing would have changed that.”

Collins hadn’t really heard Wingnut talk about any faith he may have had, or what he believed, the blonde nodded and sniffed, but something in his mind would always feel guilty. He knew in his heart he couldn’t have stopped it, but what if he could have? What if he could have done something differently? What if- Wingnut was speaking, and Collins’ thoughts quickly dissipated.

“When Collins told me, I didn’t believe him at first. For one second I thought it might be a joke, but you don’t drive over two hours into the midlands for a joke, and if anyone knows jokes, it’s me,” he said, which managed to coax a smile onto the faces of the other three, but not his own.

“I’d never met someone so positive as Dawson before, never met someone who tried so hard to make sure everyone was alright, someone who managed to remain such a positive force on everyone’s lives and that was the thing. Sometimes I could see through the cracks, and I feel horrible because I know that it’s hard to be the shoulder to cry on. I just hope that wherever you are up there buddy, that there’s no weight on your shoulders anymore. We’ll be okay with you watching over us.”

The wind picked up a little, rustling the tree and everyone’s hair. It was so hard not to overthink everything, not to go inside his mind, but Collins was trying as hard as he could to stay present, for Dawson.

Farrier could see them from the window of his office. It was heartbreaking, these young people all gathered standing by the only actual tree on the airbase, all in black, mourning their friend. It was times like these that Farrier could almost forget there was a war, to see emotion so raw and to see these young people, untouched by the horrors of war, still soft and full of feeling and emotion. It was difficult, and somehow Farrier felt like he was intruding if he watched, so with a heavy heart he turned his gaze away, unable to stop thinking about the fact that not only did the informal service which was going on outside not have a coffin, but that Dawson’s family wouldn’t get one either. Nothing was ever recovered of what, from Davis’ recounting sounded like a horrific crash. At least his image would never be tainted, Farrier thought. Maybe it was the only positive thing he was able to think about the situation, but he’d have hated for those who loved Dawson to have to see him mangled up, and to never stop seeing that instead of his sunny smile.

“Dawson was such a wonderful person, and I wish more than anything that I got to know him more.”

Stella was talking now, she was making an effort not to cross her arms because she felt so exposed, so open, talking like this.

“I’m grateful for every time I got to see him, even if maybe I wasn’t at the time. I know he fancied me, and I turned him down. I don’t know if I can forgive myself for that one, even if it couldn’t have worked out. But, I think Alexander-never-Alex deserved better than me, I don’t know if anyone would have made the perfect match, from what little I know and from what I hear, he was…”

Stella stopped upon saying the word ‘was’, past tense.

“The most beautiful soul. I hope he’s at peace now. I’ll miss you, Alexander-never-Alex.”

Everything was quiet then, somehow Stella not just calling him Alexander touched Collins, made it so much more personal because she really did always call him ‘Alexander-never-Alex’, made it so real. Everything felt like too much and not enough at once, Collins reached a hand down to touch Parker’s fur on his head just to feel something real and try to get out of his own head, unsure if it was the wind blowing or his blood rushing to his head making that sound. His question was answered when Tilly started speaking, turned out it was both.

“Well, I didn’t really prepare something to say, more something to sing. You see, I actually have friends in America, and what sounds like such a wondrous film has been made over there, it’s called The Wizard of Oz. I… I actually wanted all of you to come and see it with me whenever it arrives here in England. Maybe Alexander will come with us in his own way. But… A friend sent me a song from the film in a letter, with notes and how to sing it. It’s about the place that I think Alexander is now. With a soul like his, there’s nowhere else he could be.”

And then she took a few deep breaths, taking a folded piece of paper out of a pocket. Neither Timson nor Collins had ever heard Tilly sing before, and both were taken aback when she began.

_Somewhere over the rainbow, way up high  
There's a land that I've heard of once in a lullaby.  
Somewhere over the rainbow, skies are blue  
And the dreams that you dare to dream,  
Really do come true._

She stood straight, her eyes trained upwards through the tree’s branches to the sky. To who she was singing to. She wasn’t looking at the piece of paper at all, it was held in her hands against her stomach as she sang in a voice that was eerily beautiful in the silent morning, in the fog that had settled around them.

_Someday I'll wish upon a star  
And wake up where the clouds are far behind me.  
Where troubles melt like lemon drops,  
High above the chimney tops,  
That's where you'll find me._

All the other three could do was watch Tilly as she sang. It was beautiful and absolutely heartbreaking at the same time.

_Somewhere over the rainbow, blue birds fly  
Birds fly over the rainbow  
Why then, oh why can't I?  
If happy little bluebirds fly beyond the rainbow  
Why, oh why can't I?_

Her voice was almost angelic. It was like a songbird, perfect and eloquent and able to render everyone present teary-eyed. Stella hadn’t known Tilly was going sing.

“I hope you liked it, Alexander,” Tilly said quietly, putting the letter with the words on it back into her pocket.

Nobody felt it right to leave, even though they’d all said their part. The wind whistled through the trees as they all stood still, even Parker was sitting well-behavedly. Then Collins remembered that funerals had wakes too, Wingnut had impeccable timing in that regard.

“Sandwich store?”

“There? Today?” Collins asked.

“I think he’d want us to, don’t you?” Wingnut replied. Collins sighed, and nodded. It was such a heavy weight to bear, Dawson’s passing. Collins knew it shouldn’t be, because he’d done enough distress training, and should be doing sorties to keep himself busy. Except no amount of distress training was enough to block out all emotion one felt when they’d lost someone that they’d gotten way too close to in the first place, and there weren’t any sorties, it was a Phoney War. Though Collins’ mind didn’t tell him he shouldn’t have gotten so close, that this was all his fault, instead it was adamant that he did the right thing making such good friends with this boy, that why should he listen to the Ministry developed classes that say you can’t make close friends? He wasn’t some sort of machine incapable of emotion, and he wasn’t about to become the perfect emotionally distant but absolutely deadly pilot that they seemed to want him to be. _Not like Farrier,_ his mind said. At that, he told his thoughts to shut up. He’d come to know that Farrier wasn’t like that. Not really.

Farrier looked up, he couldn’t help it. He peered out of his office window to see the four walking out of the field towards the carpark, inevitably about to walk through it to get off of the premises. The words of _They Shall Not Grow Old_ wafted through his thoughts as he contemplated Dawson, and all the rest of the men he’d lost in the first war, and undoubtedly the many they’d lose in this one. The poem was quoted so much at military funerals that it had been drilled into his mind in times like this, even if what had just happened wasn’t a military funeral. It was such a heavy feeling, growing old to the feeling of one’s wingmen dropping out of the sky, Farrier didn’t know if he had the strength to carry it after another war, and was immensely worried that Collins’ slighter shoulders wouldn’t either. He hoped Dawson would watch over his friends, because they always had and always would look up to him.

It felt wrong to bring up the fact that he and Collins had been seeing each other for one year to the day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading, and for commenting and giving kudos, I really appreciate it.   
> [ my tumblr ](https://s-n-o-w-p-i-e-r-c-e-r.tumblr.com)  
> [ afternoon pinboard ](https://pinterest.com.au/snovvpiercer/afternoon)
> 
> Until next chapter ❤️


	11. Complete, But Not

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Monday everyone. The world is such a crazy place right now. I hope anyone with riots near them is safe, I hope anyone with virus cases in their area is safe. I hope you are all doing as well as can be, given everything.
> 
> This was actually two chapters both labelled '105' (I carried the chapter numbers over from Afternoon in my word doc, even if ao3 started the numbers again for Nightfall) so I slapped em together and here u go!

Collins had wound up halfway through the next week without really realising. The wake had been okay, as okay as it was going to be. It was hard for Collins to walk past the sandwich store owner, it was so obvious what had happened. Part of the blonde thought he might ask where their third counterpart was upon seeing he and Wingnut, but their black outfits had given it away, and the older man had gone quietly back into the kitchen with his head hung low. The days had passed so slowly, he’d been doing everything without thinking, wake up, force himself to eat, wait around for the inevitable day without any sort of action, force himself to eat lunch, wait, force himself to eat. And feed the dog. Farrier was making an enormous effort to make sure Collins didn’t disappear completely. Every night he could, he would ask the blonde to his room as they always had, and try to talk to him. Often he didn’t want to, but when he did it felt like a tiny step forward to Farrier.

“I just wish this war would kick off. Either have a war, or don’t, ye know? Don’t just call it one and then not do anythin’,” Collins said as he flicked through the book of birds which Canfield had given Farrier a long time ago. He studied the illustrations of each before turning the page as he lay on his stomach in Farrier’s bed. The older man lay on his side watching Collins.

“I know, but it isn’t so slow everywhere.”

“Wish we could go and help more then,” Collins said. Farrier hummed, he never thought he’d be wishing to fly into a warzone but here he was. It was ridiculous because unless they were called up, it was no flying at all, so they got even less airtime than in peacetime and it was driving them all up the walls.

“I didn’t tell you yesterday, because… Well, you had enough on your mind.”

“What?”

“Yesterday Warsaw was attacked by the Luftwaffe,” Farrier said.

“Why is that important?” Collins asked. He was over Farrier being mysterious.

“The city was defenceless. The attack was just… Murderous. And now the German Eighth Army have joined in.”

The tone in Farrier’s voice was what made the blonde realise the seriousness of the event. It was this information that made Collins realise that it was the same force that had attacked a defenceless city that took his best friend. He was scared of this seemingly unstoppable power, and one he hadn’t even seen in the flesh yet. A warm hand reached out and took his, doing little to settle his nerves. Collins was however, almost grateful for the feeling of fear, it was somehow slightly better than the sadness and the numbness he’d been feeling ever since Friday, that fateful day.

“There’s something else,” Farrier said quietly.

“What?”

“Well… Yesterday was our one year anniversary, pet.”

Collins hadn’t even realised. It had been a whole year? He’d been telling himself not to count the months, not to get too ahead of himself, apparently that wasn’t in Farrier’s head at all.

“Oh,” the blonde said softly. A small smile appeared on his face as he looked over to Farrier, who smiled back, more than glad to see the man he loved looking happy.

Warsaw surrendered. More than 140,000 Polish troops laid down their arms, and the country was now in the hands of the Nazis. A few days later, the land was divided between Germany and the Soviet Union.

“Despicable,” Stella said over the morning paper.

“Worrying,” Tilly replied.

The day was just as grey as the two felt. The girls were worried for their housemates, none had written yet. Both of their teas sat getting cold on the bench.

The next day, Germany notified Britain that its armed merchant ships would be sunk without warning, claiming to be the result of the British merchant ships attacking German submarines.

“Do you think they’ll do it?” Davis asked Farrier.

“Not a doubt in my mind, Davis.”

The younger officer looked over at Canfield, hoping for a different answer, all he got was raised eyebrows saying _well, he’s probably right._ They were all in the kitchen, most of the younger pilots seemed to hang about in the common room, often leaving the kitchen free for the older men to chat. Sometimes it was good, not to have so many squabbling voices around talking eagerly about the fight. It was also good, in Canfield’s opinion, because some things officers talked about he wasn’t sure he wanted the young men to know, it needn’t filter down the lines that far.

“Well, I fear if they do, we won’t be able to help, if it’ll be without warning as they plan,” Canfield said wearily.

“Davis, uh.. I don’t think you’ve been briefed yet, unless Canfield has told you already, about the new pilot?” Farrier asked, eyeing Canfield who shook his head.

“Well, Dawson’s replacement is arriving today. I want you to rearrange Green Section, Collins is One, Turner is Two, and this new man, Flying Officer Elias Corey, should be arriving around lunch. Show him around, yeah?” Farrier asked. Davis swallowed and nodded. He felt like it was his fault Dawson was gone, he was the lead flyer after all, he was meant to protect his men.

“Davis,” Farrier said, putting a hand on his shoulder. It must have shown on his face.

“It’s war. You couldn’t have done anything.” 

Davis smiled sadly.

“I know, but there’s a little voice making me wonder, against rationality, you know?”

“We know the voice well. Stop listening to it,” Canfield spoke up, and turned to leave the room as soon as he’d said it.

Collins didn’t know why he still sat in his own squadron’s common room if most of them were in 107’s room. Maybe he liked the quiet, maybe he felt like he could pretend everything was as it used to be. Turner was in the other room, the one man who was most likely to talk to Collins. The blonde could hear his loud voice echoing from the next room into the one he was presently sat in, and he jolted when he looked up to see Canfield in the door.

“Oh, morning Canfield,” he said, going to stand and attempt a salute.

“Sit down lad, I just want to chat.”

That meant bad news.

“Give it tae me straight Canfield. What’s the matter?” Collins asked.

“Nothing’s the matter so to speak, but as you know, your squadron is incomplete.” The words brought a pang to Collins chest, which he fought not to allow to the surface.

“Today, we are welcoming a new pilot, who will fill your section and allow your squadron to be complete again.” 

“His replacement.”

“Collins, please. Lad, you can’t think of it that way, no man could replace another, but someone needs to fly the plane,” Canfield said sympathetically. Collins huffed.

“I just wanted to tell you myself,” the old man added.

“Well, thanks. Suppose it wouldnae have been a nice surprise if I hadn’t known.”

  
“Davis would have briefed you all, but I still… Wanted it to be from me. I’m looking out for you, lad.”

Collins forced a smile onto his face.

“So is he,” Canfield said, looking up. Collins had to hold his breath and force his emotions down his throat at those words. The older man stood up and made to leave, but not before uttering 102’s squadron motto,

“Sumus corum tempestate.”

It made Collins sad, to hear it aloud. He looked over at the framed, professionally made version of the logo and motto he and Dawson had come up with together, then his eyes shifted below it to the little table on which stood the original. His heart was heavy, remembering the two sitting in their rooms working on it together. Collins took a deep breath, Dawson wouldn’t want him to dislike the new pilot, he knew that much. He left to go into the kitchen, realising that he should at least have a cuppa, if he didn’t want food. Again. Sometimes Collins felt alright, like sadness and loss wasn’t consuming him, but then he remembered that he never wanted to eat, never wanted to see anyone or do anything. He wasn’t expecting to interrupt a conversation between Farrier and Davis in the kitchen when he entered it.

“Oh, mornin’,” he said as he walked past them to get some water boiling and a mug from the cupboard. They both said their good mornings back, and Davis left the room on account of needing to finalise some of his logbook from the last flight that he’d been too scattered to do before.

“Canfield told me we’re getting a replacement today.”

“Yes, and I think once the squadron is complete you’ll be sent out again,” Farrier said. He stood, arms crossed leaning on the bench where Collins made his tea.

“Have you eaten?” Farrier asked quietly. Collins was silent, Farrier turned his head to see the blonde hunched over the bench, hands tensely grabbing the edge. He shook his head slowly.

“Could you? If not for yourself,”

Collins was afraid he’d say to eat for Dawson.

“Then could you for me?”

And that was probably the only thing that would have made Collins eat that morning. He really did feel sick thinking about food, but if it meant something to Farrier, then he would.

At lunch, Elias arrived. He was saluted at the door, and given a tour by Canfield. Collins was sitting out in the courtyard with Parker. He was eating a sandwich he’d made in the kitchen, again making himself eat, especially if what Farrier had said about going up today was correct. He looked up through the glass windows around the courtyard as something in his peripheral caught his eye. It was a man he didn’t recognise. _Must be the new one_ , he thought. The man had reddish hazel hair and a gaze that looked calculative, intrigued. Collins took a deep breath and looked away, continuing to focus on Parker.

“That’s Flying Officer Collins. Don’t take it to heart if he’s a bit rough with you, he’s… Just lost his wingman,” Canfield said to Corey as they continued to walk.

“Just lost mine too,” Corey replied. As they walked Canfield clapped a hand onto the man’s shoulder, a silent action that he knew how it felt, but the older man also knew better than to speak any words on it, lest bring the feelings back. It had been a training accident, Corey was sent straight from his OTU to Gatwick, the officers realising it was better pilots went down in an operational sortie than in a training unit that they perhaps didn’t need to be in.

By lunchtime, everyone in 102 had met Corey. Collins sat in the common room watching Turner make friends with him, watching everything happen around him. He’d brought Parker into the room with him, Canfield didn’t seem to care anymore that Parker was inside more often now, firstly because of the weather but also Collins had a feeling he didn’t want to provoke the blonde, was going easy on him in light of recent events. Corey seemed quiet, much quieter than all the others, but very smart and quick with his answers. Not cocky, but someone who knew how to make friends, someone who knew how to crack a quick joke and take people off guard. Collins wished he was that socially apt as he sat there with the dog, the only thing in the room who didn’t seem to be avoiding him. He wished his squadron mates would talk to him, it would take his mind off the one who wasn’t in the room anymore. The blonde supposed he wasn’t making much of an effort to appear approachable either. He huffed, and stood to join Turner and Corey in whatever conversation they were having which seemed to be about cloud formations.

“Collins, glad you joined us!” Turner smiled.

“Thanks Turner, thought I better get to know my knew wingman,” Collins responded, attempting a smile at Corey. He wasn’t imposing in any sense of the word, but wasn’t weak either.

“It’s nice to meet you, Collins,” the man said, holding out a hand which Collins took. Corey’s handshake was weak, or maybe Collins’ was stronger than he realised.

“Be a pleasure flying with you two fine gentlemen then,” he said.

“Mm, now tell me young Corey, ever flown a Hurricane?” Turner asked.

“No,”

“Hah! Well you might well today! Don’t worry, they’re easy birds, be grateful you’re not on a Spit!” the Irishman laughed.

“Yer from an OTU?” Collins asked.

“Yes, I am.”

“What did they have ye flying?”

“Fairey Swordfish, sir.”

“First of all Corey, I’m no sir,” Collins managed a genuine smile, causing one to appear on Corey’s face.

“Second, Swordfish as in the biplane?”

“Yep, they were easy to fly.”

“Jesus,” Collins said turning to Turner for the first time, who mirrored his surprise.

“Well, you’ll enjoy the closed cockpit at the very least,” Collins said.

“I imagine I will. A lot safer too,” Corey said. He didn’t mean for his words to cause Collins to see those events in his head again, didn’t mean to send the man turning around glassy eyed muttering “only sometimes”, but he did.

Within the hour, they were indeed summoned to the tarmac for another mission. Today was actually cold enough that Collins wore his Irvin jacket. It struck Farrier how much more experienced he looked wearing it, how much older he looked.

“He’s got that look about him doesn’t he?” Canfield said, appearing next to Farrier against the back wall, watching 102 prepare.

“What look?”

“He’s felt something now. He’s got a shadow falling over him,” Canfield said.

“Michael, would you not say that? He’s a man who’s lost his mate, what would you expect?” Farrier spat back, arms crossed and a wince on his face at Canfield’s evident need to try and be an arse.

“I’m just saying,” the old man said quietly.

“There’s no shadow over him that shouldn’t be there. Shadows pass.”

“Yours didn’t.”

“What the fuck is your problem?!” Farrier shouted, some of 102 looked over to see what was going on, Collins included. It was Canfield who walked off inside in a huff, not Farrier for once. It left the officer standing by himself looking like a right fool who’d just yelled at his superior, the squadron in front of him not having heard the context. Collins looked a beat longer than everyone else, and Farrier hated to admit that he could see the look in the blonde’s eyes. It had changed, in the way that anyone who had seen or known death, in the way that meant a little bit of the light in his eyes was gone. Farrier gave him a nod, and the blonde returned it.

“So lads, same drill as usual. I’m sure you’ve all made Corey feel welcome, Corey I trust you’ve done all your formation flying?”

“Yes, Officer Davis.”

“Good good, well just keep in formation, I’ll let you know over the radio when we come up over each landmark. We’re just looking to see if we can see much on the ground at this stage, try and get some sort of map of where the Hun is, alright?”

Corey nodded, Collins could feel in the air that Corey was nervous. Collins would have told him there was no need to be, but it would have been a lie.

Collins gave a final look to Farrier, then to Corey and Turner to make sure his wingmen were getting into their planes. Being made Green One meant he was technically in charge of them both now. It was more responsibility than he’d bargained for, but if Dawson could do it, he could do it. Somehow, that thought wasn’t comforting at all, it was Dawson who’d got shot down, after all.

Collins didn’t know it would happen until he slid down into the seat in the cockpit and got all his headgear on, until he’d given the all clear and shut the canopy over his head. He began to shake. Engines started up all around him and the sound of eleven Merlins was overwhelming. He started his own out of habit more than anything, his hands shook as he held the Starter and Boost in. Collins breathed deeply, closed his eyes for a second to try and calm down. Everyone was going through their radio checks now, making sure everyone’s was working and when it came to his turn, “Green One” sounded much less confident than it should have, he didn’t even bother trying to kid himself into thinking that maybe nobody heard the wobble in his voice. Then Davis’ plane started up the runway, then Peters and Alan behind him. Collins waited a beat too long, for a second expecting to follow Dawson out. With shaking hands he held the control stick in his right and the throttle in his left, and the Hurricane began to move up the tarmac. The rumble through the controls as the plane began to barrel down the runway took some of the shakes away, or maybe Collins just couldn’t feel them as clearly from the vibrations through the plane. Either way, he tried his best to ignore what had happened. He’d heard Canfield talking about the shakes, but that wasn’t what that was. Was it? The blonde had to shake his head and blink hard to put his mind back where it should be, in the present. He was lifting off, the unique feeling of weightlessness took over as the Hurricane pushed upwards into the sky.

Canfield sat inside alone. Farrier hadn’t deserved to be on the receiving end of his outburst, but another old war friend had passed. He hadn’t kept contact like he should have, they’d drifted away in the years after the first war, but it hurt all the same. The old man sat in his office in the dark, no lights on and his blind half down, tea getting cold in front of him. He hoped he wasn’t the only one left one day, to have everyone else he flew with already gone, and he having to suffer through it all.

Farrier refused to go and see Canfield to apologise, his anger was warranted. He knew something probably happened, and that was why. Canfield was sometimes ominous without realising, but never so purposefully unless he was in a bad mood, and he was never in a bad mood without reason. Part of Farrier’s mind was worried about why, but not as much as was still angry at the old man for suggesting Collins might never be happy again, and for suggesting he himself never got better, which, in Farrier’s opinion, was damned wrong.

Flying did help Collins’ shakes a little, the fact that they didn’t see a single soul also helped, no flak and certainly no enemy aircraft. He hated how random it was, but if they’d run into flak after the disaster of their last sortie, he didn’t know how he would have reacted. They landed in France to refuel as usual, and then headed straight home. Turner and Corey chatted on the radio about how the new sprog was finding Hurricanes until Davis told them to keep it quiet until they were on the ground. Even if they hadn’t run into the enemy, it didn’t mean he wasn’t listening, and even idle chit chat could be dangerous.

The sun was beginning to get low in the sky by the time 102 could be heard in the distance from the airbase. Farrier hadn’t done much except wait for them to get back, which he wasn’t sure if he was ashamed of or not. One thing he was sure of was how glad he was to count twelve Hurricanes this time when they appeared on the horizon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for reading, I hope you liked this one! Thank you for the lovely kudos, comments and emails I've gotten recently, it makes my day when I see things that tell me that people appreciate this writing adventure ❤️
> 
> [ my tumblr ](https://s-n-o-w-p-i-e-r-c-e-r.tumblr.com)   
>  [ afternoon pinboard ](https://www.pinterest.com.au/Snovvpiercer/afternoon/)
> 
> Until next chapter my loves ❤️


	12. More Bloody Flaps

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Monday all! I hope everyone has a good week ahead of them, here's an extra long one that throws you back into the action, after certain events. I hope everyone is staying safe.

“Can’t believe they picked us!” Wingnut said as he walked towards his crew.

“Must be good reason behind it,” Phillips said back,

“Or it’s random and you’re both overthinking it!” Gordon said. Timson had been promoted to pilot, and Philips was now the ‘chart man’, as he called the navigator. Philips never wanted to be the pilot, but he’d been the best at piloting Blenheims out of the pick, so he was put there. Wingnut had wanted to pilot them, and today was his chance to prove himself.

Today, the RAF would fly over Berlin for the first time in World War Two.

“Chin up, yeah?” Gordon said, the air gunner and the main emotional support the crew had, save for their partners.

“’Course, it’ll be fine, just a confetti run after all,” Wingnut replied. He was nervous, he’d piloted the bombers before but not in wartime, not over the German capital. Nobody had piloted a British bomber over the German capital. He was the first.

“They’ll love you, those WAAFs, you’ll get swarmed as soon as we’re back mate,” Philips said.

“Hey! I won’t be needing the attention of any WAAF when I have my ATA girl!” Wingnut said proudly.

“Gave her a sweetheart brooch last night I did,” he added in a much quieter voice than usual.

It was silver, a delicate set of wings and the letters RAF in a brilliant blue between them. The day was crisp and grey, though the crew were thankful for the cloud cover in the event that Jerry was out and about.

“Lucy’ll love it mate, I’m sure she will,” Gordon smiled and patted Timson’s back. Lucy of course, did love it and would not take it off.

Engines roared to life around the crew and before any of them knew it, they were in the clouds, all that could be seen out of the windows and cockpit was a light grey, the Perspex streaked with water droplets pushed back with the speed of the plane cutting through the air.

Timson was still coming to terms with the fact that Dawson was no more. He was grateful he was posted somewhere that wasn’t Gatwick, he’d hate to have so many constant reminders everywhere of his friend. For the time being Wingnut was doing what Wingnut did best, socialising and being loud, hoping that if he did that enough, maybe he’d feel okay.

Further south at Gatwick, all was quiet. No sorties, but the men were in a state of readiness as they sat in the common rooms. Frustrating as it was to have to be ready but never deployed on a mission, it was necessary.

“How ye finding it here?” Collins asked Corey. The blonde felt bad for everyone else, he was becoming such a quiet sod that nobody even bothered talking to him, save for Turner occasionally, though he had much more in common with Finn from 107, so the two tended to talk together instead.

“Very different, but beautiful.”

His accent was one Collins couldn’t immediately pick, it wasn’t northern, nor was it southern.

“Different?”

“Well, first of all there aren’t drunkards running around just outside the airbase yelling snark,” Corey said with a small smile.

“Jesus, really?”

The hazel-haired man laughed and confirmed.

“Small midlands town, nothing much to do except drink and watch the birds fly,” he said.

“Ah, so yer a small town man?”  
“I am, yes.”

“I guess we have something in common,” Collins said. He smiled genuinely at the revelation.

“Would I know where you’re from?” Corey asked.

“Not likely, even less likely I’d know where you’re from,” Collins replied back.

He was keeping his distance.

“Approaching now at angels 20,” Philips said over the radio.

“Understood, we’ll take a loop and go down on our way back out, use the momentum to get back up,” Wingnut said back. The cloud had gotten a little sparse around the French coast, but it was heavy again now which he was grateful for. He relied heavily on the dashboard instead of what he could, or rather couldn’t see in front of him as he guided the plane around the German capital gently through the cloud, almost as if perhaps if they stayed up here, they were invisible.

“Morning lads,” Farrier said as he entered 102’s common room with a cup of coffee in hand.

“What ye doin’ in here?” Collins asked, trying to act candid and like he wasn’t happier than he should be.

“Just felt like it, you know? Nicer chairs in here too,” Farrier said, taking a seat in one of the old armchairs which had been picked up from second-hand stores to fill the common room. The real reason was because Canfield had told him why he’d gone off the other day, and Farrier was allowing him some space. One of the old veterans Canfield had been friends with passed, he had been ill and Canfield hadn’t known until the information of his death. Farrier knew he was in 107’s common room, and knew the man would start conversation that he didn’t actually want to have if Farrier was in there.

Then the telephone rang down the hall from Farrier’s office. Swearing, the man got up and left.

“He’s funny,” Corey said quietly.

“Funny?” Collins laughed. He laughed, and it was for the first time since Dawson’s passing that he’d genuinely laughed.

“Why is that amusing?”

“Most people are bloody terrified of him before they get tae know him!” Collins smiled.

“Why on earth?”

“Well if ye don’t get it now, you may never,” the blonde said. He was happy that perhaps first impressions of Farrier were changing, that maybe the man wasn’t so cold and intimidating to those he didn’t know anymore. Collins wasn’t sure he had an unbiased opinion on Farrier’s moods and impressions he left on people, all things considered. Said man walked back in looking more tense than when he’d left.

“Sending us over again. Stupid Ministry. Hang on, this isn’t my squadron. ‘Scuse me gents,” Farrier said, with one last look over at Collins, who nodded silently.  
Farrier was so used to walking into a room full of his men that he’d managed to catch himself off guard today, all of his men were in 107’s common room along with about half of 102, the remainder, including Collins and Corey, were in their own common room. Corey pushed away from where he and Collins had been standing against the window ledge,

“See? Funny.”

They walked outside together to watch 107 take off. Collins was glad that he didn’t hate Corey, he thought he might have, and perhaps if Corey had been lead flyer in Green section, he would have. The fact that Collins had been promoted to take over Dawson’s old place in the formation meant something to the blonde, like he was continuing a legacy somehow.

“..flaps.”

Collins caught the tail end of something Corey had said,

“Pardon lad?”

“I said ‘more bloody flaps’.”

“Flaps?”

“Flaps. Sending us over, flapping our wings, c’mon,” Corey said before Collins finally cottoned on to the slang.

“Well, we aren’t goin’ over today, just 107,” Collins said. Corey gave him a look of surprise.

“Yes we are. Didn’t you hear Davis just then?”

Collins’ gait faltered. He never missed orders.

“When?”

“Like five seconds ago, he yelled out to be prepared to take off at 1630 hours,” Corey said, not wanting to sound rude by telling Collins this, but feeling worried that the man who was leading his section seemed to be out of sorts.

“Shite. Yeah uh, must have missed it. Flaps, yeah,” Collins said. It worried him that he hadn’t heard the order. His hearing was fine, surely. He mentally scorned himself for going so deep inside his thoughts.

“It’s… It’s alright, you know. Nobody’s perfect, I’m sure you would’ve got the idea that we were going up anyway,” Corey said. Collins smiled but said nothing as they stood and watched 107 climb into their planes. Farrier had his Irvin on, and he looked like everything a fighter pilot should be.

“Corey, reckon I’m fit tae fly?” Collins asked before he realised the words were coming out of his mouth.

“I mean, you were fine last time, weren’t you?”

“Yeah. I was fine.”

Collins didn’t mention the shakes and decided not to ask Corey again, save scaring the new lad who he was supposedly leading.

Farrier looked over at them as he walked over the wing of his plane, and in his eyes Collins saw courage. Seeing that gave him some of his own. He would be fine. He was fine. The brunette climbed down into the cockpit and what Collins could see of him with his flight helmet and mask on looked like someone he wouldn’t want to be on the wrong side of. He was proud of Farrier, not just for his formidable skills in the air but for being who he was, carrying the weight that he did. It wasn’t an easy task, and Collins daren’t imagine himself carrying the same weight Farrier had to. The man slid the canopy closed over his head, and the two men from 102 watched as the engines began to start up, as the propellers twitched into action and flamed licked the exhaust of the Spitfires.  
They lined up down the runway, and one by one they left the earth, Farrier leading. The blonde wished he didn’t have to watch his loved one fly off to war and not go with him, though he knew Farrier thought it somehow more dangerous should they ever fly together.

Any cloud there had been cleared as soon as Farrier’s squadron reached the Jurassic Coast. He swore in his head, cloud cover meant easy hiding from anything.

“Keep an eye out all, angels 25,” he said. He was taking them above the cloud that began to come back once they were over the European mainland. Sometimes it wasn’t the greatest idea to be inside the cloud contrary to intuition, the enemy might be hiding above. All things considered however, Farrier thought it safe. All they’d run into so far was flak, which came from below. They’d dip below the cloud when they needed to, but for the journey over it was pointless to try and fly inside the cloud, it was just more dangerous if everyone had to rely on their instrument panels and couldn’t see anything, nobody here, including him had their Instrument Flight Rating, so they couldn’t fly using instruments alone. This meant no night flying, but also it was advised not to fly in cloud, and Farrier didn’t want an accident to happen because someone flew into someone else in the middle of a bloody cloud.

The engine roared in his ears as he pulled the stick back and the squadron gently flew upwards. It couldn’t be too sharp or they’d all stall out, and as they climbed higher, the rate of climb decreased anyway. For all that dogfights were split second reactions and over in less than a handful of minutes, the getting there, the travel and the movement of planes across the sky was such a slow ordeal indeed. The Merlins hummed along as the squadron flew in formation. After listening to the engine rumbling the same frequency for so long, it was almost like it was silent, the engine became background noise. Farrier knew not to let his guard down of course.

“Keep ‘em peeled lads.”

After what felt like an age, according to Farrier’s map which sat on his thigh, they were over Germany.

“Right, angels 16 you lot, once we’re there we’ll orbit to port and head for the refuel point,” he said, and for good measure he made sure everyone copied. They floated down again, the blue sky above replaced with the grey menace of the clouds beneath. Soon it was all around them, drops appeared on the windscreen, sweeping back with the wind outside the plane. The clouds were dark and ready to drop rain, Farrier just wanted to get out of there as soon as he could, preferably with all of his men.

“Lucky they fixed those problems with the guns freezing over, hey,” Keith said.

“Don’t jinx it!” Farrier laughed.

His laugh was cut short by something that struck terror into him in his rear view mirror. That plane wasn’t part of the squadron.

“Bandit 6 o’clock. Break!” he said, his voice taught with adrenalin.

The squadron broke apart through the sky, each man putting his training to use and flying up, down, across. The planes were splayed out through the cloud, and in the midst of the break, Farrier lost track of the bandit.

“Who has eyes on him?!” he yelled.

“I do Fortis Leader. I’m on his 6.”

It was Keith, Farrier’s wingmate. Farrier’s head jerked around looking for Keith, looking for anyone. They’d dispersed themselves so much he couldn’t see anyone. He was alone.

“It’s a Messerschmitt, 109,” Keith said.

“Don’t let him out of your sight,” Farrier said, as if that was going to help. He mentally cursed himself, this was _his_ squadron. What the fuck was happening? Where was everyone?

“Don’t plan on it, Forti-“

And then Keith’s sentence was cut short by a yell.

“Fuck! Another Fritz here Fortis Leader!”

Farrier didn’t have time to process emotions, his mind snapped right back into combat mode and he was barking his reply as soon as he heard Keith’s voice.

“Understood Fortis 2. Do you have eyes on the rest of the squadron?”

“No.”

“B flight, get back up. Angels 20 in formation, get to the refuel station.”

Two 109’s didn’t need two entire flights to play with, the six planes of A flight would stay down and deal with the problem and meet back with the rest of the squadron.

Farrier’s combat mind switched on as if it had never switched off. He was wired and as alert as he’d ever been. His eyes scanned everywhere he could see, cloud all around was no longer a good thing. Enemy could be anywhere.

“Blue 3 where are you?”

“Blue Leader I’m at Angels 15.”

“So am I. Blue 2?”

“Agh. Angels 17. Bugger’s on my tail, lost the one in front of me… Shit,” Keith said.

“Dive. A flight, get below cloud.”

Farrier was not going to allow this to become a game of hide and seek, not only did he have no eyes on one of the bandits, but the other was in pursuit of one of his men. Plus, who knew where the rest of the flight was, he prayed he didn’t fly into anyone. He pushed the control column forwards and the plane leaned down into a steep dive. As soon as he could see, he could shoot. _Shoot_. _Kill button._ Farrier shook his head. Now was not the time to be think about that. He was in a warplane for a reason, so he told himself to suck it up. Either he shot, or Jerry did. The engine spluttered for a second as he continued the dive.

“Bloody carburettor,” he muttered.

Then the cloud dissipated, and he saw green below him. Farrier pulled up fast, faster than was comfortable, but now wasn’t the time for comfortable. Then he saw another plane pop down in his rear view mirror. Friendly.

“Fortis Leader it’s Fortis 3 behind you.”

Seconds later, Fortis 2 appeared from the cloud in front of Farrier with a 109 following closely.

“Can’t shake him!” Keith yelled.

“Cut your engine,” Farrier ordered.

“What?!”

“Now!”

So Keith did as he was ordered. He throttled right back until he was only flying on the momentum left behind. He was terrified, electrified as he looked in the rear view mirror on the top of the windshield. The 109 was so close he could just about touch him, just about see the whites of the pilot’s eyes. There was nothing else in the mirror except the nose of the enemy’s plane and he could hear the awful droning of its engine above his own.

“Fortis Leader I hope you have-“

“Bank port, Fortis 2.”

Once he did of course, the plane also lost altitude fast. Most of the momentum he’d kept bled away as the Spitfire turned and he dropped off sharply, nose down.

Then Farrier fired.

The shots fell through the air, none of them hit home. Farrier just stared for a second. He’d missed.

The 109 dropped off through the air after Keith, who no longer had the power in his plane to push it away and he was being closed in on. Farrier was breathing heavily, not that he realised, and all of a sudden realised if he didn’t do something now, Keith was not coming home. He yanked the control stick and pushed his boot hard into the rudder pedal until his plane lurched uncomfortably sideways and down, following the enemy.

He fired again.

Bullets clanged into the fuselage of the 109, tracers blotting Farrier’s vision as he concentrated on the enemy.

“Loop back and start the engine up. Head back where we came from Fortis 2,” Farrier said, refusing to draw the enemy towards where they were headed, lest they follow them all the way there.

Keith shook his head to himself, he knew Farrier knew what he was doing, so he flew underneath his squadron leader’s plane, back into the heart of Germany. He was terrified. He’d never been shot at before. Terrified, but alive, more so than he had ever been, he thought.

“Better not find any fucking flak now,” he said, eyes refusing to tear themselves away from any piece of sky he could see.

Farrier pulled the plane down to follow the Messerschmitt, which had throttled back too in order to stay on Keith’s tail and not overshoot, his burst at it had not discouraged it in the slightest. Now was the issue that if Farrier shot at the enemy again, he’d shoot at Keith too.

“Green Section, any eyes on the second bandit?”

“No Fortis Leader.”

“Fuck.”

A flight was a mess, Farrier had no idea where Green Section was, no idea where the other bandit was either, he only knew where he, Keith, Roberts and the damned German were, and they were all heading back into Germany.

“We have to tire him out, Blue Leader,” Keith said.

“Not an option. WEP into a vertical climb, over.”

“War Emergency Power is for-“

But a burst of bullets from the 109 shut Keith right up, from Farrier’s position behind them it didn’t look like any hit, or not seriously. Keith’s plane pulled straight up, and as the 109 followed, Farrier once again open fired. This time his rounds went diagonally through the body of the plane from the corner of the nose to the rudder on the tail. The Messerschmitt couldn’t follow Keith into the climb, and began to lose momentum. It dropped back down and limped away, seeping an awful black smoke.

Farrier breathed, for what felt like the first time since he’d seen the enemy, which in itself seemed like hours ago.

It had all happened in 3 minutes.

“Clear,” Keith announced, as he saw the plane begin to spiral, a sure sign that the pilot was no longer in control, for whatever reason. He didn’t like to think that far. He himself wasn’t dead, that was that.

“Where’s the other bandit?” Farrier asked.

“No eyes on him.” Roberts replied, the final member of Blue Section. He was flying a ways behind Farrier and had seen it all unfold.

“B flight, anything?”

“No Fortis Leader,” came Brown’s voice.

“Fuck. B flight are you approaching the refuel station?”

“Yes Fortis Leader. Cloud cover is thinner and we are going down, over,” Brown said.

“Understood. A flight, get below cloud cover to save fuel and stay in formation if possible. Make it to the refuel station, over.”

Keith, Farrier and Roberts turned and all adjusted their speeds until they were in a formation of 3 at last.

“You get him Fortis Leader?” Finn asked over the radio.

“Yeah he’s gone.”

Finn was going to congratulate him over the radio, but something in the last part of Farrier’s sentence stayed his words. Green Section appeared from the clouds several hundred feet to Blue Section’s port, in very loose formation but formation nonetheless. Blue and Green linked up and finally 107 squadron wasn’t jumbled across the sky anymore.

“Not out of the woods yet, I want everyone on high alert,” Farrier reiterated. His mind and heart were racing a thousand miles a minute, he hadn’t even processed the fact that he’d just shot a man down for the first time since 1917, he needed eyes on the other bandit.

Farrier half wished he hadn’t gotten what he asked for. Far off to starboard another 109 dipped down from the clouds.

“Another 109 Fortis Leader! On our 3!” Reed yelled over the radio, by the time everyone had heard his announcement their eyes were already trained on the plane. It flew back up into the cloud, apparently deciding that it was best it didn’t get into a tangle with an entire squadron.

“He’s leaving?” Reed asked,

“Possibly, I don’t think it wise to leave it,” Farrier sighed. He didn’t want to do this, but these were the decisions he had to make as lead flyer, and he was in this position because men far up the line from him knew he could be relied on to make the right decisions.

“We need to follow, otherwise we won’t know if it’s following us all the way back to the refuel point, and if it does then we’ll have a welcome party every time from now on.”

Blue Section split off, and the rest of the squadron were ordered to head straight to Reims and land. Roberts flew below cloud, Farrier inside it, and Keith above. It was no sort of formal formation, but it was the only way to check with this retched cloud cover. A minute or so went by and none of the men saw anything.

“Keep your eyes up, Keith, and yours down, Roberts,” Farrier said.

Suddenly, Farrier wasn’t flying in cloud anymore. There was a break, a large one at that and at the other side of it, he could see a German plane.

“There!” he said.

“I see it,” Roberts said, Keith seconded. Evidently the 109 had seen them too, for it swooped upwards to try and gain altitude on them. Farrier wondered for a second why the pilot didn’t just duck into the cloud ahead and try and out-fly them, but then he remembered what plane he was flying, and her already formidable reputation for unmatchable speed. The enemy was over their heads soon enough, lining up to drop its nose to the ground and shoot.

“Break!” Farrier gave the order just as the 109 tipped over into the dive, giving the pilot much less time to control it enough to point its guns at one of them as they scattered. It still took a few shots though they fell short of any of the three planes. As the 109 levelled out above them, it used the energy from the dive to swoop back up and climb again, though this time Farrier followed on its tail.

“You don’t have as much energy as he does!” Roberts warned,

“I know, but I might not need it if I can just-“

Farrier fired again, and again he missed. It wasn’t as easy as it sounded but it sure angered him. The bullets flew past the side of the plane and he cursed as they did. The plane was losing speed fast so he pushed the throttle hard against the wire until it snapped and gave him that extra boost of War Emergency Power he needed to follow the Hun just a little farther. He shot again, and this time he saw the ricochets. But the Messerschmitt didn’t stop.

“You’re about to stall!” Keith yelled.

“I know!” Farrier said, angrily pulling his plane out of the steep climb and back to a level flying position. He kept his eyes trained carefully on the plane above him as it continued to climb higher until finally, it was ready to try again. Farrier was so angry because he felt so useless, three against one should not be like this, and yet this single German plane was the one pulling all the strings. Again, the 109 dived down at them.

“Does it know it’s not a dive bomber?” Keith yelled in a panicked attempt at humour.

“It can’t shoot at three planes at once. You two get altitude while it’s diving down. Now!” Farrier called. His wingmen didn’t question their order and rose steadily as he stayed below as bait. He flew lower still, hoping to draw out the German’s dive into one even longer to buy time. It succeeded to a degree, but the plan was an obvious one and the enemy knew the other two Spits were trying to get on top of him. Keith and Roberts were just about level with it by the time it pulled out of the dive, and that was enough to get the Messerschmitt into trouble. It flew fast after Farrier, with such speed from coming straight at him from a dive that it startled the man and forced him to again use WEP just to get away from the Hun.

“Tell me one of you is on him!”

“I am.”

Keith lined up behind the 109. He knew he couldn’t shoot with Farrier ahead of it, he didn’t trust his aim enough.

“Fortis 2 I’m going to bank, and you must take the shot. Yes?”

“Understood Fortis 1.”

Farrier did exactly as he was going to, he threw the plane hard into a starboard bank, it hurt his shoulders and neck and it was dizzying to be thrown sideways all of a sudden, blue of the sky on one side and green of the earth on the other, the horizon vertical in his vision.

Keith didn’t hesitate to shoot as soon as Farrier was out of the way. The bullets clanged as they left the wings of his plane and he watched them hit the metal of the enemy’s plane. He’d hit it, and yet, nothing seemed to happen.

“Fortis Leader?”

“Did you get it?”

“Yes, but it’s still pursuing you.”

“Understood. Do either of you have clear shots?”

Farrier got negative answers from both. He was still banking hard, and the 109 was following him into what was turning into a tight downwards corkscrew. He evened out and continued the bank at a level altitude, and Farrier couldn’t be sure of the moment it happened, but at some point the 109 was no longer chasing him; he was chasing it. Once the 109 realised, it sharply pulled out of the turn it was in. It was a fatal mistake, and Farrier followed the plane away. It was a reflex, as soon as you saw that the target was right in the middle of the gunsight, you just knew what to do. The enemy glanced over the very centre of the gunsight and Farrier pushed the trigger on the control ring without thinking. The plane shook as bullets rang from the guns in the wings, and up ahead Farrier saw a piece of aileron break off, now the 109 wasn’t going to be able to turn properly and it enabled Farrier to once again get it in his sight. One more short burst, and there was a bang so loud he could hear it from his own cockpit. White smoke streamed out of the front of the plane beneath the engine cowling and it slowly lost altitude.

It still didn’t feel real. For some reason, Farrier didn’t feel like he thought he would. He thought once he went back, once he inevitably had to shoot at an enemy again, that it would destroy him, that he wouldn’t be able to continue on. Somehow, he felt alive. It had come as a surprise, they hadn’t expected to run into Jerry today, and maybe that was it, that he hadn’t had time to contemplate the fact that he would have to shoot down other pilots today. Whatever the reason, the old feeling returned, the feeling of being wired and alive and more ready for anything than ever. He wasn’t scared, not for him nor his men.

The flight to Reims was one that Farrier didn’t relax on at all, not that he or any other man ever should in the air in such times. It was a relief to see that everyone had arrived and landed safely ahead of him, and as he got out of his plane while it was being refuelled, he saw the bullet holes along his fuselage. He saw them on Keith’s plane too. _Collins isn’t going to like those,_ was his first thought. He smiled to himself a little, bringing light to the situation in his mind because that definitely shouldn’t have been his first thought. The panel damage wasn’t too bad upon closer inspection.

“Well that was unexpected,” Keith said walking up to Farrier.

“Ha, you could say that. I’m glad we all got out in one piece. You alright?” Farrier asked. It was Keith’s first dogfight.

“Shaken, wouldn’t expect anything else I suppose. I’m alive though, that’s somethin’,” he said, offering Farrier a cigarette from a pack he’d pulled out of his front pocket. The man took it gratefully.

“You alright?” Keith asked.

“Mm? Yeah, I’m alright. Bit shaken, like you said,” Farrier replied as they lit their cigarettes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for reading, I hope there are no errors in this one, I didn't check it as thoroughly as I usually do lol.  
> [ my tumblr ](https://s-n-o-w-p-i-e-r-c-e-r.tumblr.com)  
> [ afternoon pinterest ](https://www.pinterest.com.au/Snovvpiercer/afternoon/)
> 
> Until next chapter❤️


	13. "It was going to happen."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Monday everyone, I hope you are all safe and well. I'm not sure why exactly but I'm really proud of this chapter, and I hope you all enjoy reading ❤️
> 
> I was also listening to the Spirit: Stallion of the Cimarron soundtrack while editing it (specifically The Long Road Back and also for the scenes at night after the day's events Brothers Under The Sun, not that anyone asked) ((that song also now reminds me of Collins and Dawson, i'm fine)) does anyone else love that film??

“Takin’ a while,” Collins said to Canfield. They were both stood against the back wall, Canfield had been out untangling the windsock which somehow got caught inside itself, and Collins was there because he tended to wander out when it was around time a squadron would return. This time, Corey was with him having just been introduced to Parker, who was currently sat at their heels.

“Yes, yes they are,” Canfield said worriedly. Collins had expected him to say something nice, “not to worry lad” or something along those lines as he usually did, but the fact that Canfield didn’t have an answer either was worrying.

“Think they ran into trouble?” Corey asked. It forced Collins to genuinely consider it.

“Maybe.”

It was another half an hour before they finally began to hear engines in the distance. The clouds had rolled in low and the sound of the Merlins reverberated across the sky as the few men who could be bothered waiting around watched the Spitfires fly in. Farrier’s plane was first on the ground and Collins’ stomach dropped when he saw what was strewn across the side of it.

Bullet holes.

“So they _did_ get into trouble,” Corey murmured. Collins couldn’t answer. He stared and started a walk towards the planes, none of which had stopped moving.

“Collins? I think we’re going up in a bit,” Corey called after him.

“We…” Collins checked his watch. 1615. He hadn’t realised.

“Yeah, fifteen minutes,” he called back. Parker was at his heel and he was walking straight to the end of the runway where he knew Farrier would stop. The plane behind Farrier’s was littered with holes as well. Finally, they had all come to a halt and the ground crew began to walk towards them, Keith and Farrier’s fitters and riggers getting a shock upon seeing damage to the planes they looked after. The brunette pushed the canopy back and sat in the seat for a moment. One breath, before he pulled himself up and out of the cockpit, stepping onto the wing and throwing his headgear back inside onto the seat. He didn’t expect to see Collins standing relatively close to his plane with the dog at his side. His eyes were wide and he hadn’t even looked at Farrier yet, his gaze trained on the holes which ran up the side of his plane.

“Found the enemy by accident,” Farrier said. His voice was low, monotonous, like he didn’t know what tone would set Collins off so he tried not to use one. The blonde didn’t answer with words, but his eyes looked up to Farrier’s with a haunting look of worry and… Inevitability. Like he knew it was going to happen, and that part of him had tried to prepare for it. That wasn’t to say he was calm in any way, shape or form. Farrier had bullet holes all up the side of his plane, and Collins knew the man well enough by now to just see past the wall he put up so easily. It wasn’t impenetrable after all, the only giveaway that Farrier wasn’t genuinely fine wasn’t in the eyes, as Collins had always been looking there. No, it was in the way he was holding himself, in the tiniest of twitches through his fingers as he moved them nervously, feeling the leather of his gloves against his hands to remind him that he was still here, still alive. It was in the way his shoulders were tighter, not the loose almost slouch Farrier usually had, they were a hard line that meant he was wound up tight.

“102 Squadron, airborne in ten minutes!” Davis called. Collins hadn’t realised he had been in a daze but that snapped him out of it promptly. He turned, hair whipping around in the wind as he watched his squadron mates walking out to the Hurricanes, already brought out of the hangar while he had been walking up to Farrier.

“What he said yeah? Fly smart, fly home,” Farrier said. Collins barely registered it before Turner was walking up to him, grabbing his arm and hauling him towards the rest of the squadron. The look in Collins’ eyes of horror was one Farrier so dearly hoped wouldn’t be the last he ever saw.

“C’mon matey, what’s gotten into ye?” Turner asked,

“Did ye not see his plane?!” Collins snapped back, surprising himself with the tone.

“Aye I saw it, it’s war Collins! What tae fuck did ye think would happen? Planes’d come back with flowers painted on ‘em by Jerry?”

The blonde had never heard an unfriendly note in the Irishman’s voice until now. He didn’t say anything back and walked on quickly, longer legs powering him forwards in front of Turner.

“Look Scottie,” Turner said. Collins didn’t look, but he listened.

“You’re our Section Leader now, and if yer going to get shaken up by another pilot’s bullets, how can I trust ye to lead me?”

He had a point. Collins sighed and stopped as they reached the Hurricanes.

“You’re right. I’m sorry Turner. Just, a bit of a shock you know? Didn’t expect 107 to come back with holes in em’.”

“It’s alright friend, just keep yer head up,” Turner said, pulling himself up onto his plane with the handles on the fuselage. Corey was already strapped in, most likely out of nerves and wanting to be prepared. Collins looked over to the Spitfires, to 107 who were now all walking inside as a squadron, led by Farrier who, even from this far away, Collins could tell was shaken. Then any anger he had from Turner’s offhand comment disappeared and was replaced with fear. What if the enemy was still there? What if they knew there were British fighters around now, and were waiting? The blonde gulped and put his headset on, connected himself up and tried to keep his voice calm as they went through the motions over the radio. He signalled to ground crew with gauntleted hands, ignoring the fact that if one looked closely they were trembling, with fear or adrenalin he did not know, before beginning to edge the throttle forwards. It was beginning to rain and his blue eyes looked up at the sky in worry before he slid the canopy shut over his head and pulled the goggles over his eyes. The squadron gained speed and thanks to a tailwind they were off quickly, climbing up into the rapidly greying sky.

“102, we need to find wherever those planes came from that 107 met,” came Davis’ voice. He’d discussed with Canfield the coordinates 107 had been vectored to, and considering these flaps seemed to have little to no point half the time, the old man thought it wiser to try and follow the tracks than fly aimlessly looking at the ground in hopes of coming across something.

“Angels?”

“We’ll get up to 23 and then turn around and go low on the way back, Vector 95 for now,” Davis said.

Collins shouldn’t have been a nervous wreck. Somehow though, it was probably more useful than a hindrance, he was looking about like a madman, scanning every inch of sky he could see for any trace of movement. They made it above the clouds, and seeing the deep blue sky of the afternoon was eerily peaceful, compared to the harsh rain beneath the clouds.

“Might not see anyone, you know,” Davis said vaguely. Collins felt like it was directed at him, it wasn’t like it had gone unnoticed the way he walked up and stared at Farrier’s plane, blatant shock on his face. They probably all thought he was soft now, not cut out for the job. Maybe he wasn’t.

“If we do, we’ll show em’,” he said. His heart wasn’t in it, but it got a cheer out of some of the other men.

“Sumus coram tempestate!” said Peters, Davis’ wingman.

If nothing else was going to put Collins into gear that day, it was hearing that. Hearing the squadron motto that Dawson came up with, that to this day nobody except him knew it was Dawson’s, except Canfield. Turner was right, Collins had responsibility now, he was the Section Leader, and he had to act like it.

“Good lord, Farrier,” Canfield said. They stood in the doorway of the locker room looking out onto the runway as it rained.

“What?”

“Your… Your plane.”

“See Keith’s?”

“Yes, not as bad.”

“Well that’s good, isn’t it?” Farrier asked. He was still pumped full of adrenalin. The rest of his squadron was in the common room, though Canfield wanted to know more than what reading Farrier’s logbook entry over his shoulder could tell him.

“So you just happened upon two?”

“Well, yeah. I don’t think they expected an entire squadron to be in the air, one tried to get away, but once I sent B Section up out of the way, the first bandit seemed game enough to stick around. We were in the middle of the cloud too, wasn’t like he could have seen that he was flying in amongst an entire Section, anyway,” Farrier said. He pulled a cigarette out of his breast pocket and lit it, though the drag did little to calm his nerves.

“How’d you deal with them?” Canfield asked stiffly. He knew when it happened Farrier would be shaken, but he wanted to know the man hadn’t done something stupid.

“First one got onto Keith, so I got behind it and, well… Dealt with it,” Farrier said.

“You didn’t put Keith in danger?”

“What do you think I am, some green sprog? C’mon Canfield, I don’t think you needed to ask that,” the brunette said with an air of bitterness that said he didn’t have time for this conversation. Maybe Canfield didn’t need to have it either, but just for his peace of mind, he did.

“So the other 109?”

Farrier sighed before answering, took another long drag on the cigarette before pulling it out of his mouth and holding it.

“Disappeared for a bit, but when we saw it again it tried to turn tail, saw how many of us there were. I didn’t think… I thought we should go after it, I didn’t want it to follow us to Reims or something. Guess he took his chances, knowing he couldn’t outdo us in speed he turned and started to fight. Got on my tail, so I pulled us down in a corkscrew away from my men. And… I guess Spitfires have a tighter turning circle, because he wasn’t on my tail after a while.”

Canfield looked at Farrier without saying anything. He had an odd look on his face. It wasn’t pride, nor was it disappointment. Somehow it was both at once.

“What?” Farrier asked without making eye contact. He put the cigarette back in his mouth and shoved his hands in his pockets.

“You put yourself at more risk than you had to today.”

Farrier began to groan in protest, was that all the old man had to say?

“But, you shot down two enemies in one flight, Farrier. I…Well, I think I’d forgotten how good your aim was,” Canfield said. It was unsettling when Farrier got into the zone, the way he just switched on.

“Still missed a fair few times.”

“Everyone misses, lad, you know that. You… Your squadron is lucky to have you leading them,” Canfield said. Farrier smiled, he wondered why the man seemed distant as he spoke, but he realised he did know why. It was the chase, the suspense, the fight, and that maybe deep down, part of Canfield felt left out. Felt trapped on the ground, instead of the sky where he always longed to be.

“How’s flying the desk then?” Farrier asked.

“Bit quieter than flying a plane, safer though,” Canfield chuckled.

Collins did not want to be on this sortie, not a single part of him wished to be in the plane at that moment. He wanted to be back on the ground with Farrier making sure he was alright, seeing cloud beneath him did little to settle the feeling in his stomach that his partner had just gone head to head with the enemy, which to him was still unknown, faceless. He flew the entire sortie just waiting for a German to appear in the sky, yet for the hours in the sky, none did. They arced down over Germany below the cloud cover to where the rain was only a little lighter, and still saw nothing.

“All quiet,” Davis said. The sky was darkening, and it wasn’t a moment too soon that they could see Reims in the distance. Collins relaxed for a moment, but then caught himself out and told himself not to. Why would he let his guard down just because he was nearing the refuel station? The enemy could be anywhere. He was wheels down and on the tarmac and still worrying they might get strafed when he realised he was gripping the throttle lever so hard his fingers were getting numb. He felt the tailwheel hit the tarmac and the nose of the plane went up in front of him, but instead of feeling safe, now he felt trapped. You couldn’t move the plane around on the ground, what if he got shot at? Finally, the Hurricanes came to a halt at the end of the runway, and one by one the pilots got out. Collins felt like it was a miracle that they hadn’t run into any trouble. He stood next to his plane and watched the ground crew walk over to them. He looked sideways at Turner, who looked back at him with a tired expression. Collins turned his head the other way to see Corey, who seemed so much younger than him even though Collins only had a few more flights in war under his belt, and neither of them had seen any combat. Corey’s mouth twitched up in a half smile, and Collins was too tense to mirror it.

It wasn’t long before they were back up. It was sunset, and as they flew back over the white cliffs, now a beautiful shade of orange, Collins couldn’t have been happier.

“Well, wonder where Jerry was,” Peters said.

“I wonder indeed, good flying boys, can never be too careful and I’m glad we were all on high alert,” Davis said. He too was wondering where the fighters 107 had run into were, but he didn’t wonder enough to go back and find them.

Farrier was down in the radar room for the first time since it had begun operating. He was listening to the radio operators talk about 102, he realised he could keep tabs on the other squadron if he stayed down and listened. It was when a few of the radio operators took their headsets off, and a few others began to guide the squadron back to the base that Farrier realised they were nearby. He left, wanting to go and see them land. Canfield was in the hall already walking outside.

“Where did you just pop up from?”

“Radar room.”

“Oh, my dear fellow, shouldn’t dwell down there, what if your squadron gets scrambled?” Canfield asked.

“Well, surely I’ll be the first to know,” Farrier countered. The older man shrugged at this, he supposed he had a point but still, it didn’t feel right to let Farrier sit down in the dark in that room, he should be sitting around his squadron. Canfield couldn’t really think of anything to say to this, so he stayed quiet. The sun was behind the trees by the time the Hurricane squadron could be heard in the distance, the low drone of Merlins becoming ever louder as they got closer, and the sky was in ribbons of pink and deep blue where the shadow hit the clouds as the twelve Hurricanes finally made an appearance off to the side of the airbase. The thin silhouette of the squadron arced around, dipping lower and lower until the planes were facing the runway and had flown in over the field. For all that Gatwick was an old station, it wasn’t set out in any sort of helpful way. The usual was that the runways would be alongside the building with nothing on either end, so if a plane overshot or undershot, there should be a flat ground for him to attempt a landing on. The building of RAF Gatwick was directly at the end of her runway, something which had never been fixed except by saying ‘just aim for a short landing’, and who knew if it would ever be rectified, Farrier wondered as he stood at the end of it, watching the Hurricanes’ wheels as they came to meet the tarmac. It was strange, standing at the end the first few times, but over the years he’d come to know that nobody ever got close to the building, the runway was long enough that it didn’t seem to be an issue, not even with the old bomber trainers that used to inhabit the hangars.

Farrier cursed himself for watching the fifth plane in the line for Collins, forgetting he’d been promoted to Green Leader, meaning he was fourth in line from the front of the squadron in landing. His Collins, had already been promoted a month into the war. Part of Farrier didn’t like seeing it happen, the reason for the change in position was a harrowing one, but he was proud of the blonde for stepping up. He could have refused.

That night, Collins finally got the embrace he needed. He’d barely had a chance to talk to Farrier after his squadron had returned before his own was swept up, and now he didn’t want to talk at all. He wanted to be there, in Farrier’s arms, forever. They stood in the middle of the older man’s room together, hugged tightly into each other. Farrier couldn’t lie to Collins and say he wasn’t shaken up, he’d met the enemy in the air for the first time, and now his plane was wrecked and he’d have to fly another one, which, as much as it shouldn’t have mattered, Farrier wanted his particular Spit back as soon as possible.

Eventually, they broke apart, and rather than sitting on the bed, Collins went for the low seats at the coffee table. The dim lamp was all that illuminated the room, the blackout curtains pulled tightly shut in front of the window.

“It was going to happen,” Farrier said quietly, going to stand behind the chair the blonde occupied.

“I know. I just didn’t want it to be you, because I’m not there.”

“You wish you’d gotten into a dogfight and not me?” Farrier asked, never thinking the words would leave Collins’ mouth. The blonde turned and looked up with his blue eyes,

“Of course I do. You think I wouldn’t rather my life at risk than yours?”

Farrier didn’t realise Collins would have the drive to say that to his face. He had wondered, of course, if the blonde’s priorities had been skewed by him, but he’d always hoped not, and had always hoped that if they had, that he wouldn’t hear about it, as if that somehow made it easier. He knew it was silly, because of course, he felt that way about Collins.

Farrier bent down over the blonde’s shoulders and wrapped his arms around him.

“Don’t say that to me.”

Collins breathed deeply and wrapped his fingers around Farrier’s forearms, he knew the argument was pointless, but he didn’t withdraw his statement. His eyes stared blankly forward as the man hugged him. He missed his parents, He missed seeing Timson around, he missed his family home, he missed life before the war already. He missed Dawson.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so so much for reading! Thank you to everyone who left kudos and comments, it's the only way I know if you're reading and I appreciate it so much!   
> [ My tumblr ](https://s-n-o-w-p-i-e-r-c-e-r.tumblr.com)  
> [ Afternoon pinboard ](https://pinterest.com.au/snovvpiercer/afternoon/)
> 
> Until next chapter ❤️


	14. Flash

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Monday everyone, I hope you are all safe and well. I started my winter school class for uni today, a photography class which I found a bit slow (I already know about photography heh) but very fun!
> 
> tw's for this chapter are at the start of the end notes. (yeah it's one of those but there's a hopeful ending!)

The days grew ever colder. Canfield was up early as usual and had already received a telegram from the Air Ministry. Luckily, it was about something which made him glad, that instead of sending entire squadrons over at a time, they would only be sending sections of 3 planes, it had been observed how little was happening and how an entire squadron just wasn’t necessary, Canfield supposed Farrier had made a very appropriate call then, sending half of his squadron away from the enemy when he’d met it.

“Morning lads,” the old man said, walking into 107’s common room with a cup of tea in hand. He was greeted by grunts and mumbles of tired men to which he chuckled.

“I’ve received a telegram this morning from the Ministry, Farrier, Davis I trust you’ll let everyone in your squadrons know, I can’t see them all here,” Canfield began, handing the two men the telegram to read. In particular, he couldn’t see Collins, who he was keeping a closer eye on than usual, he certainly hadn’t taken any of the distress training on board, then again he hadn’t taken any of the initial advice not to get close to anyone on board which was why there was now an issue regarding his former wingmate. Canfield wondered how the lad didn’t seem to have some internal monologue telling him not to make such close friends even without a formal telling; he was joining the military, it should have been self-explanatory. Maybe he was being too harsh, the man reminded himself that not everyone was used to the idea of seeing someone one day, and not the next.

Collins had forgotten to set an alarm. Sometimes his mind wasn’t with it and it scared him, it was like he was doing things without realising, or sometimes forgetting like today. He sat up in bed and rubbed his face. He’d also forgotten to close his curtains last night apparently, as they stood open letting the bright white light stream into the room. The blonde mentally kicked himself, the entire nation was in a blackout and he’d definitely had his lamp on last night before going to sleep, so he’d done something very serious. He got dressed, not sure if he should bother telling any of the superiors, he doubted they’d punish him, but there was nothing they could do to rectify it anyway. The mornings were so quiet now, without Dawson to keep him company and since Turner seemed to favour Finn over himself. Corey was just a quiet person, and was either bored or frightened of Collins- the blonde couldn’t tell, in any case Corey didn’t seem to chatter. Collins first went to see Parker, who although couldn’t talk back, seemed to provide better company than most of his squadron mates currently.

“Morning, you,” Collins said as he walked into the quadrangle. Parker had his long legs and big feet now, they’d grown before the rest of his body and it meant that soon he wouldn’t have any puppy-like features, even if he still had a little way to go in terms of overall size. Parker happily trotted towards Collins and nuzzled the hand at his side as the blonde looked up at the foreboding grey sky. He wondered how Wingnut had been doing, the brunette had been on Collins’ mind for a while now. He missed the silliness and light-heartedness the man had brought to his days, so Collins decided that he might write a letter to him soon. Collins bobbed down to give Parker a belly rub, and when he stood and turned back in the direction of the door, Corey was standing there.

“Oh, didnae hear ye,” Collins said quietly, somewhat embarrassed that someone had been watching him play around with his dog.

“I didn’t mean to startle you, it’s just that Canfield had some news,” the man said.

“An’ what might that be?”

“Well,” Corey said, walking with his hands in his trouser pockets to Parker.

“He said they aren’t sending us up in squadrons anymore, just in sections.”

“Huh, suppose that’s useful. Thanks for comin’ tae tell me Corey,” Collins said. The two stood in silence for a while as Parker sat by their boots.

“Well, I saw some last pieces of bread in the cupboard so I’m going to try and get one before they’re all gone,” Corey said eventually. Collins had a vague thought that he should go with, and he wasn’t given the chance _not_ to before Parker had trotted off with Corey.

“Hey! Cheeky bugger,” Collins said after the dog. Corey turned very confusedly, thinking Collins was talking to him, having not noticed Parker behind him.

“Eh, not you,” Collins said.

“I know not me!” Corey laughed as Collins caught up to him and Parker.

They walked into the kitchen together, and there were enough slices of bread left that they could have one each, leaving the crust for someone else.

“So I guess if we only go up in sections, considerable leave time is on the plate,” Corey said. Collins hadn’t even thought of that.

“Jesus, yeah. I could go home,” he thought out loud. 

“You didn’t move here?”

“Well yeah, ‘course I did, but my family still lives in Scotland I mean.”

“Ah, of course.”

It turned out that day that no flying was necessary. Only sending sections up also meant however, that some of the squadron could train in the air while others waited on the ground for a possible scramble. Davis took two sections up in the air at a time to finally do some more gravitational force training.

“Well, often the only reason the enemy could out fly you is because he is used to more g-force hitting him, so he can turn tighter and you,” Turner explained to Blue and Yellow sections.

“How do ye know?” Collins asked.

“Davis mentioned it to me.”

Collins sat with Corey and Turner on the ground watching, waiting for Green and Red sections’ turns.

“Looks so easy right?” Corey said as they sat on the grass with Parker.

“From down here, sure. Did you start doing g force training before coming to Gatwick?” Collins asked. He knew he’d asked the wrong question when the pause before the answer was inexcusably long.

“Yeah, few times.”

Collins sat quietly then, deciding it was better to look up at the planes than take the conversation any further.

“Last day with my OTU,” Corey said quietly. He was already looking at Collins, who gave Corey the respect of eye contact. Corey often had an odd look in his eye, it wasn’t sadness, but it was… Blank, like something wasn’t going through his head, like he wasn’t processing something.

“One of the boys accidentally pulled 9, passed out in the plane. Crashed into another one, both went down.”

Collins was shocked, completely unprepared for Corey to tell him that.

“Jeez, Corey I’m so sorry son,” Collins said, not knowing what on earth else to say. Corey was younger than him, he looked straight out of elementary training, not old enough to fight a war, but then again, who was?

“It’s okay,” he said quietly, Collins seriously wondered if it _was_ okay but said nothing more.

It wasn’t long before the first half of the squadron were coming back in to land, though Davis wanted a rest before going back up again, it was tiring on the body doing such manoeuvres so in the meantime, Farrier decided to take half of his own men to the skies for training.

“Think flying Spits would be harder?” Corey asked, watching them shoot down the runway.

“Probably, Farrier seems to tell me it is.”

“You two get talking much?”

It had been a while since Collins had been pulled up with a little sentence like that, immediately his stomach dropped.

“Ah, just ye know, around the base an’ that,” he said a little too quickly. Corey hummed and seemed to accept the lie.

“I wonder if the g force is harder to keep in control in them,” the brunette wondered.

“I imagine it would be, since the whole plane is lighter on the controls,” Collins replied, earning him another hum.

“Well this afternoon I might apply for some leave then,” Corey said.

“Now that’s a grand idea, I probably will soon as well. Collins realised then, that if they weren’t sending the squadron over as a whole, that he’d have to get used to something, he’d have to start being comfortable flying without Davis leading. _Then_ , separately, it dawned on Collins that if they were to be sent up in threes, and he already led his section of three, that he would be given completely control in the air sooner or later. That thought scared him more than it should have, he didn’t want to be the most senior pilot, he didn’t want that responsibility.

They lay down on the grass then, basking in what little warm light there was left in the day. The rest of the squadron came and sat around, watching Farrier in the air knowing the other half of 102 would be up next. That time came just as the clouds began to blot out the sun, as six perfect Spitfires roared down over the runway. Collins was just glad to be able to make out Farrier leading the group in a plane that wasn’t shot up, though the man in question wasn’t too happy that his trusty Spit had been taken to the shop along with Keith’s for patching up. The one he was flying today shouldn’t have felt different, but somehow it did. Maybe it was just the knowledge that it wasn’t his R9612.

“Right you lot, kit on, let’s go,” Davis said upon seeing the second half of his squadron not at all ready and lying on the grass.

“Just nice and warm though Davis,” Turner said with a smile.

“Well go and get your Irvin, man!” Davis called back, already making his way to the Hurricanes which stood proudly in a line ready to go again. Collins gave a look to Corey,

“You’ll be alright?” he asked quietly, slowing his pace to walk next to the younger man.

“Yeah, ‘course,” he replied in what seemed to be his typical guarded way. Collins couldn’t tell if it was peacefulness or numbness, though he thought he knew, he didn’t want to think about it. he caught Farrier’s eye as he walked towards the line up of planes ready to fly.

He was sitting in his Hurricane soon enough, doing pre-flight checks, moving ailerons, rudder, elevators, making sure everything worked before his chocks were removed and the wheels began to inch forwards as he pushed gently on the throttle.

For a few fleeting minutes, Collins’ mood was lifted. It never got old, the feeling of taking off. One second there was traction over the ground, the next second there was nothing. Nothing but the weight of oneself being pushed down into the seat as the plane began flying up instead of rolling over flat ground, nothing but the sound of the engine roaring in one’s ears and the view of the nose pointing up over the horizon into the sky and the thought that maybe, just for a second, every hell that existed on earth might be escaped up there.

Then, however, the memory of what exactly Collins was doing made its way back into his head, training to meet the enemy, and that ruined the illusion that going up could free him of such things. He sighed to himself, not that anyone would be able to hear it over the radio anyway. Once they were at altitude, the training began promptly, more pulling out of dives and turning corners more sharply than Collins thought necessary, though he supposed it was necessary, or else they wouldn’t be doing it. It hurt his neck and shoulders, it felt like his whole body was lead and he had to fight just to keep his body from not falling into the side of the cockpit during a turn, fight to keep himself upright in the seat, even with all the straps keeping him there.

Collins couldn’t have discerned the timeframe of the training in the air at all if he didn’t have his watch on. The watch Dawson and Timson had given him which was almost definitely purely Dawson’s idea because all Timson could ever think to give anyone would be a piece of ridiculous clothing or a novelty item. He wondered if everyone felt like this now, if everyone was having a hard time. Maybe he was being silly, maybe he was always like this and was only just noticing. His brain tried to think of an excuse as to why he had been so vacant in the past weeks, one which wasn’t the blaringly obvious reason that his best friend had been shot down. It was in the middle of a tight turn to starboard that the blonde glanced down over his right wing towards the ground well below, and just for a second, that wasn’t the grounds of Gatwick, for a second, it was Germany. For a second, there was a fiery explosion as Collins looked down over his wing, and for a second, he watched Dawson die again. Colling gasped loud enough that he knew everyone else had heard it. He stared ahead, ripping his eyes away from the ground and focusing on the task at hand.

“Alright, lad?” Davis called out.

“Uh yeah, just strain in my neck,” Collins lied. In actuality he was not alright at all, he was terrified. Perhaps he’d need to get some leave sooner than he thought. He was shaken for the rest of the session, which luckily wasn’t much longer, the blonde didn’t know how many more turns and dives he would have been able to handle. He landed awfully, the wheels hit the tarmac on a sharp angle and it sent the plane back into the air a few feet before it touched again at just as bad of an angle, but with less momentum it stayed on the ground at least and rumbled along behind Davis. It couldn’t come fast enough when his Hurricane finally fell back onto the tailwheel and shortly after, lost all forward movement, halting and immediately being turned off the runway with Collins still in it to get it out of the landing line of the rest of the section. He pushed the canopy open and unhooked his oxygen supply from the plane. He unstrapped himself and pushed his way up, lowering the flap on the side of the cockpit to allow him to step out onto the wing and jump down.

Farrier could already tell there was something the matter, in the way Collins held himself, in the way he hurriedly walked ahead of his squadron, the way his gauntleted hand clenched his helmet so hard, in the line of his jaw and the hard set expression. Farrier turned to Canfield as they both sat in chairs against the back wall, the older man gave a confused look.

“Bad day?”

“Didn’t seem to be before the flight,” Farrier responded quietly as the blonde neared them to walk inside through the door some metres away from the two. Farrier half expected Collins to utter his usual ‘afternoon’, but he didn’t.

“Well he’s chipper,” Canfield said sarcastically.

“should we check on him?”

“Don’t worry about it, I’m sure it’s nothing lad. Not every man here is your responsibility,” Canfield said. he was trying to be helpful and for once it didn’t come across as snarky to Farrier, but this time it was different, and Farrier couldn’t explain to Canfield why it was so. A few minutes later the rest of the group walked inside, seemingly unworried that Collins had walked off. Canfield and Farrier stood outside for a little after everyone else had gone in.

“So you still care for him.”

Farrier closed his eyes slowly and sighed. He opened them to see Canfield staring at him.

“Does it even matter?” Farrier asked lowly, resting his head back against the brick wall. He’d half thought the old man had completely forgotten about the whole thing, it had been long enough since he’d brought it up.

Collins was in the toilets alone standing over the sink. He didn’t really understand what had happened to him in the air, but whatever it was, it was bad. It dawned on him then, that it was what Farrier had described himself experiencing. That thought alone terrified Collins, that he was already teetering down that path. How was he supposed to tell Farrier, tell anyone? Surely this was normal. A lot of men from the war, the first one, he corrected himself, had memories like this. Why would this one be any different? Somehow his mind hadn’t realised that he might experience the same things men from the first war did. The door burst open and Turner was there. Collins had honestly expected several other people to come and find him before Turner, but here he was.

“Buddy, is everything okay?” he asked, standing next to Collins with a hand on the blonde’s back. Collins stared into the sink and shook his head. Turner sighed,

“Matey, do ye think you might need some rest?” he asked, hand leaving his wing mate’s back.

“I know I do. Ever since… I just wish we didn’t have all this fucking downtime,” Collins spat. He hated it, he doubted if they were out on real sorties that his mind would even have time to contemplate Dawson, to put him back there and make him see things he didn’t want to see.

“I wish so too, Collins. it hurt all of us, ye know mate. I don’t claim to know him like you ever did, but we all miss him. Go talk to old man Canfield, hey? Take a week if you can,” Turner said.

Collins swallowed. Of course he wanted leave, but not for this reason, not because he had the shakes and was seeing his dead friend crash into the ground during a training exercise.

“I’ll ask for some leave, not that I’ll really be able tae get away since we live on base,” he tried to laugh.

“Don’t be silly matey, ye don’t stay on base if you have leave! Goodness man, go find yerself somewhere to go for a week.”

“Where?”

“Well, you’re clearly not English. Go back up.”

There wasn’t anything better he could have thought of, except somehow secretly bringing Farrier along which was most definitely not an option. Turner began to walk off, leaving Collins with his thoughts.

“Trust me matey, a week off will do you wonders,” he said as he left the blonde alone in the relatively dark room, still holding onto the sink. Then he had a thought. What if he could find a way to bring Parker to Aviemore?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Triggers for this chapter: Flashbacks, mentions of death.
> 
> \------------------------------------------------
> 
> Thank you all so so much for reading this one! Thank you also for the kudos and comments, it truly makes my day if I see those notifications because it means I have touched someone else with my writing. 
> 
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> Until next chapter ❤️


	15. Up North

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Monday everyone. I hope that this chapter brings you all some sort of comfort (??) in these times. Writing it was really relaxing, so I hope that comes through. 
> 
> I need to make an announcement and I'm really sorry to those who love reading every week, but there will be no chapter next Monday. I have been very busy with a winter intensive uni course, so I'm going to use this next fortnight to catch up on everything!! Again I'm sorry, this is the first time (apart from when Afternoon ended and Nightfall began) that I'm not uploading for a week, and I don't have much of an excuse, but it needs to be this way. If I'm able to catch up on everything I need to, then the next chapter will hopefully be on 13th July.

In the end, it wasn’t that hard to get a week of leave. Canfield seemed to know he needed it, and a few other men had already asked for leave, so he wasn’t the odd one out. Collins didn’t want to leave Farrier for a week, but he needed to get away from the airbase, and Farrier wasn’t going to take leave just ‘because’. It wasn’t like him, he would work himself to death if someone didn’t force him to take leave eventually, but that day hadn’t come yet.

“I’ll think of you,” Farrier said the night before Collins was due to head up north. He was indeed taking Parker with, Canfield didn’t think it likely he’d get stopped if a well behaved dog was on a train, especially if he wore his uniform. Collins didn’t really want to be wearing his blues in public, but if it meant people were less likely to ask him to get off the train because of Parker, he would.

“I’ll think of you too,” Collins replied. They were both terrified that Farrier would go out on a sortie and something would happen. It was unspoken. The curtains were drawn shut tightly against Farrier’s windows, and the lamp as dim as it could be just in case.

“I know what happened the other day,” Farrier murmured. Collins knew what he was talking about too. Farrier was irked that Collins hadn’t told him, come to him, wanted to be in his arms. He didn’t say anything of this, because trauma was a deeply personal thing, and just because he was Collins’ partner, didn’t mean the blonde wanted to tell him any of it. And Farrier would respect that no matter what.

“If you need me, you know I’m here, pet.”

“I know. I’m sure it was a one off thing, probably was just tired,” Collins said. They both knew it wasn’t the truth, but Farrier knew nothing ever came of trying to tell someone that yes, they were having flashbacks. They already knew perfectly well.

Collins was up early Monday morning before almost everyone else. The sun hadn’t risen, and the world was still cold and blue. Farrier came down to the front doors and bid him goodbye, not without one of his warm hugs inside the building before the blonde reached for the handle and let a cold draft of air into the hall.

“I love you,” Farrier murmured.

“I love you too, and I’ll see ye in a week,” Collins replied, a definitive tone at the end of his sentence, trying to set it in stone as a fact.

He walked out onto the street with Parker’s lead in one hand and suitcase in the other, and with one more fleeting glance over his shoulder to Farrier, who smiled sadly at him, he and Parker departed RAF Gatwick. They walked briskly down the footpath through the cold air, but somehow it was a comfort to Collins, who for months now had been telling himself he was getting too soft with this English weather. The blue light and cold air, and his comfort in it, reminded him who he was. Collins always found himself most at peace when alone, when it was quiet. Whether that be sitting watching the wild horses in the highlands, or walking silently through the sleepy streets of Gatwick. Maybe everything was okay. There was barely anyone at the train station into London, which was a grace as Collins wasn’t in the mood to talk. The train came steaming up to the platform after a comfortably long wait in the cold air, and the blonde boarded with the dog at his heel. He found a seat easily and set his suitcase down beside him, Parker sat down under the table in front of him, snout poking out into the aisle to look around. Collins loved that dog, and couldn’t have imagined how different his life might be had he not found Parker that night in the box. The train jolted, and he was off. The window was fogged over, and as Collins wiped his sleeve across it he revealed the small town of Gatwick steadily getting further away as the train steamed north through the farmland which separated it from the capital.

It wasn’t long until he was back at King’s Cross, it felt like an age since he’d been there. It was much busier unsurprisingly, than Gatwick Station. Collins kept Parker on a short lead as he walked him through the crowds of people, it was strange to be there, because it felt like business as usual, almost.

Collins was overcome with a feeling of happiness when he saw the train to Edinburgh pull up to the platform. It had been a long time since he’d gone home, too long. Though he had come to love England and her people, his first home would always be Scotland.

“Ready to see my other home?” he asked Parker as the doors were opened. The conductor did give the blonde a look, but didn’t say anything. Maybe Canfield’s advice had worked, he thought as he got on. Collins was glad it would be a long train ride, it was what he needed to get his mind off everything, if he could ever do that.

Farrier tried to go back to bed, but couldn’t. He wasn’t really nervous for Collins, he was happy that he could get some leave on such short notice, and happy that he was going home with the dog. He was nervous because _he_ was still on duty. There was nothing he could do about it, and the fact that Collins willingly agreed to get leave was a show that the man knew what was best for himself and acted on it, unlike Farrier who knew what was best for himself and ignored his intuition deliberately.

The train ride was peaceful. It was quiet, save for the rackety sound of the carriage as the train moved over the tracks, the chug as the huge wheels pushed on, and occasionally the small talk and gushing over Parker from the train workers pushing the food trolley and stamping tickets. Collins had his sketchbook out for the first time since that day, for once he didn’t feel like he should be doing anything else. He knew there was a drawing in there, an outline of the Hurricanes that he’d been drawing as he sat with Dawson the morning before that sortie. Maybe one day he’d look back at that drawing, maybe even paint it in like he intended, but on this day, he flicked quickly over it to a new page. As he sat there doodling, he felt like he could almost forget everything. Almost. As he whizzed through the countryside and the sun began to come up properly, the fields out of the window lit up in a beautiful early morning light, one so clear and bright that Collins could see for miles. The windows began to un-fog themselves as the day began, and the lights on the train switched off as the light poured in from outside. As the sun peeped over the horizon its rays shone straight into the carriage through the window. Collins raised his head and looked in front of him at all the tiny dust particles floating through the golden light.

His mind flashed.

It flashed back to when he’d done the same thing in that beaten up godforsaken shed at the airbase the morning of… When they said goodbye to _him_. The blonde tried his hardest not to let the train ride succumb to an overarching feeling of sadness, as he sat there willing himself to keep sketching and to try not to think about it, Parker nudged his leg from underneath the table.

“What is it, you?” Collins asked, and he got an answer when Parker wriggled up from beneath the table and clambered onto the bench seat next to Collins.

“I’ll let ye sit there, but no jumping onto the table, and no being silly, alright?” he asked. In his head Parker understood just fine.

Maybe Collins would always see a bit of Dawson in the golden morning light that the man himself had loved. “Got the makings of a fine day,” he’d say to Collins, who would just shake his head and smile.

Two hours passed spent drawing, dozing, patting the dog, and looking out the window. It took Collins by surprise when the train stopped, before he realised they must already be in York. He glanced around the station, watching people walk around, watching pigeons fly about the roof, everything seemed normal. How odd it was, getting away from military life. The set down was only for ten minutes to collect more coal, and as soon as the train had stopped it rolled out of the station heading north. The train passed Hadrian’s Wall, and that was when he knew he was getting close.

Gatwick was waking up now, breakfasts were in order, tarmac was being checked, windsock, planes, signal flags, joking around, getting into uniform, checking flight gear and for Farrier, wishing Collins would be safe.

Then they were going through Berwick-Upon-Tweed, the last town in England before the border. Collins began to feel a strange tingling in his gut, it was the same feeling he got when he lifted off the ground in his Hurricane, the same feeling he got each and every time Farrier kissed him. It was excitement. The train chugged slowly over the Royal Border Bridge. Looking down at the River Tweed was dizzying but wonderful all the same. The water splayed out like rippled glass under the bridge. Once crossed, to the right of the train was the North Sea. Suddenly, it wasn’t as sunny as it had been, or maybe it wasn’t sudden, maybe Collins had been carried away counting the landmarks until the border. Either way familiar and comforting grey clouds blanketed the sky now, and against them the sea looked dark and even from the train, the blonde could see white caps. It was coming up now.

Collins never missed it when he crossed over the border. There was an old stone wall separating farmland from the tracks with a sign on it, and it could always be seen looking out the right side of the train. Usually the train was going too fast to make out any other words than ‘England’ and ‘Scotland’, one pointing in each direction, and today was no exception. Collins spotted it whiz past and he knew where he was. He was home. There was a feeling of peace now, of calm. A feeling that, even if there was a war on, that he was going home, and that it was okay, just for now. The train flew through the green farms of the Borders, and gradually it began to rain.

In the distance, Collins spotted Arthur’s Seat outside of Edinburgh. It was odd that he was so excited to be back in Scotland, the fact that he felt nostalgic meant he had been away for too long. The train pulled in and let out its steam with a hiss.

“C’mon you!” Collins said, trying to nudge Parker off the seat as Collins was currently stuck between him and the window. Parker got the message when Collins stood up, gladly jumping down knowing they were going somewhere. The first steps off the train and onto the platform felt almost unreal, the station was just as he remembered it, but the fact that he was back and not just dreaming was amazing. Collins went to the same little pastry store he always did in the station, giving some of his pasty to Parker, and he walked slowly over to the tracks for trains to the north. Sitting down on the little wooden bench was the best seat he’d had all day, it was one step closer to being home. The only not so good thing was just how long it always took to get home, it was already afternoon, and it would be dark before he got back up to Aviemore. The blonde’s thoughts were halted when the old rickety train pulled up right in front of him. It was a lot smaller than the Flying Scotsman, it never got too many passengers. The roof was low, the walkway narrow, the seats pushed up against the tables a little more, but none of that mattered. Collins found himself a seat, swung his suitcase up on to the overhead compartment and got Parker out of the walkway where others were trying to get past, the dog getting plenty of pats from other passengers, much to his content. There was a squeal, and the old train was off just like that. Finally, Collins felt like he could actually relax. As the train left the station the rain came down on it, previously sheltered under the roof.

The journey to the north was beautiful, as it always had and always would be. The way the light went blue, almost the same hue it had been when Collins had walked out of Gatwick in the morning, but something was off, and for a few minutes Collins couldn’t put his finger on it. Then he realised. The train hadn’t put its lights on, and neither had any of the houses or buildings they were going past. _Blackout. Right,_ he thought to himself. That was a dampener on his spirits, a reminder that no, it was not peacetime, and that going home had not changed that. The remainder of the journey up was a very cold and dark one, the curtains on everyone’s windows were pulled shut by the train staff, and the dimmest of lights illuminated the walkway, not enough to be seen through the curtains which were undoubtedly state issued blackout curtains anyway. The announcement came out of the blue, since Collins couldn’t see any of his usual landmarks and hadn’t been listening out for the towns leading up.

“The next stop is Aviemore.”

“Shite. Parker c’mon!” Collins said with excitement. They got up out of their seat and waited in the standing area next to the door. His parents didn’t know he was coming, and that was how Collins wanted it to be.

The train stopped, and Collins pushed open the door. The air was cold and crisp, it was only raining slightly now, tiny drops that one could barely feel as they fell. He stepped out with Parker in leu onto the platform and though he couldn’t see much, he knew that this was exactly where he needed to be. There was still a little blue light when his eyes adjusted, just enough to get him home, that and the perhaps five dimmed lamp posts he could see. Collins walked through the familiar streets, passing the familiar houses and shops, winding down smaller and smaller roads until he reached a dead end, at the end of which was his home, on the edge of civilisation, on the edge of the world, perhaps.

“Ready boy?” he asked Parker, though he should have asked himself the same question as he walked up to the front door. Collins was glad Aviemore wasn’t too big, or else he’d have definitely gotten lost in the near darkness it was shrouded in.

His mother opened the door and almost burst out in tears just seeing him.

“Evenin’, Ma,” Collins smiled as she clung to him.  
“Idiot boy. Should have told us ye were comin’!” she murmured into his shoulder as Collins chuckled.

“Is this the dog?!” she asked after finally letting go.

“Aye, Parker.”

Marie let her son into the house and grabbed his suitcase and the dog lead off him. Collins stood in the hallway and looked down to see his father looking back at him wondering what the fuss was about.

“Jack?!” he half yelled walking towards him.

“Da, good tae see ye,” Collins said as he was pulled into a hug. He heard his mother giggling as they hugged, and he pulled away to see Parker jumping up on her.

“Hey now! Thought ye didn’t do that boy,” Collins said, getting the dog’s attention and telling him to sit.

“It’s alright, he’s harmless,” Marie said.

“So this is…. Harper?” James asked.

“Parker Da, yeah it is,” Collins smiled.

After a good amount of fussing over him in the doorway, they finally went and sat around the lounge. The fire was going and the curtains were drawn shut. It was odd sitting on the couch he and Ben had been discovered on all those years ago. It seemed so far away, that time. Looking at Parker as he began to lie down in front of the fire reminded Collins that a lot had changed since then.

“So glad to see you here son. How is everythin’?” James asked. Collins cleared his throat.

“It’s… Uh…”

He had been fine, but very suddenly the thought of Dawson came into his head, and he went quiet. His mum put a hand on his shoulder, and nobody said anything.

“I lost my best friend,” he said quietly. The tears didn’t come, but the choking feeling remained in his throat. Collins barely registered his parents holding him, their utterances of apologies, their own emotion. He stared into the fire behind Parker, and mumbled something about being hungry without really registering what he’d said exactly.

He was in his old room then, suitcase brought in with the instruction to get into something comfortable and out of his uniform. Stepping back out in socks and warm clothes, Collins could see bread and an assortment of condiments on the table.

“We’d already had dinner son, ye should have phoned ahead,” James said.

“I wanted tae surprise you two,” Collins said.

They all sat down at the table and began to eat, Parker getting a snack as well.

“How is et up here then?” Collins asked with half a mouthful.

“Well, bein’ so far away it’s not too different I suppose. Only army trucks comin’ through sometimes,” his mum replied. Collins hummed in agreement.

“Busy doon there then?” his dad asked.

“Mm, sorta. We’ve been over plenty, but they donnae send us that regularly, so a lot of the day is spent waiting around for an order that might not come,” he explained. His parents tried to hide their surprise that their son had already ‘been over’.

“And do you like your squadron?” Marie asked,

“’Course. Ye have to, otherwise it just won’t work tae fly together.”

“Well that’s good, son, so they’re your friends?”

“Some o’ them, ye. Bloke called Turner, he’s Irish, and a new lad called Corey,” Collins said. He paused for a second and cleared his throat before continuing.

“And em, I’ve made good friends with the Squadron Leader at the base.”

“Oh well it sounds like you have a lot of people you can talk to, son,” his father said. it was odd, what could you say when you wanted your child to make friends, but knew that any of them could be whisked away forever?

“Mm. ‘specially the Squad Leader, he flew in the first war, he understands things,” Collins said.

If he was going to live the life he was, and be with Farrier with as long as possible which was what his mind wanted, he had to plant a seed in their heads. He wasn’t going to jump in and admit anything, but if they could even see Farrier as just his best friend, it would be beyond wonderful. That would mean Farrier could meet them one day. Collins’ thoughts were halted when he realised that… Perhaps he shouldn’t think so far into the future.

“Well, I suppose that’s good. Is he in your squadron then?” James asked.

“Mm? Nae, but he was one of the flying instructors before Gatwick became operational,” Collins explained. They seemed to be buying it just fine, or perhaps they didn’t want to ask, but whatever the case no prodding questions came, and the seed had been planted. Collins was already mentally hearing how much his Scots had come back immediately when in the presence of other Scottish people.

“And how’d ye come across the dog again?” James asked.

“Well, I have some friends who aren’t in the RAF, and they live doon the road from the airbase. I was walking back after visiting them and I found a box of puppies, someone had dumped ‘em, and well, one of them was alive,” Collins said, turning around in his chair at the table to see Parker still firmly plonked in front of the fireplace again.

“Lucky lad then, that you found him,” Marie said, to which Collins agreed.

Sleeping in his own bed that night was like a dream. Not only in the sense that it was comfortable, but it didn’t feel entirely real.

At Gatwick, all was peaceful. There had been no sortied to speak of, and all day down there it had been sunny.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so so much for reading, and for leaving kudos and comments on other chapters, I love and appreciate you all so much! I'll see you all soon ❤️
> 
> [ my tumblr ](https://s-n-o-w-p-i-e-r-c-e-r.tumblr.com)   
>  [ afternoon pinboard ](https://pinterest.com.au/snovvpiercer/afternoon)
> 
> Until next chapter ❤️


	16. Wondrous Wicked Weapons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! I hope you are all staying safe and healthy. I hope you all like this week's chapter, taking a week off last week really helped me as I had a lot of uni work which needed doing. Please don't get angry at me for this but I'm going to do it again next week, as I'm too busy to write enough lately, so I feel I'm falling behind and need to change the schedule to fortnightly instead of weekly. I'll of course let you all know if I'm able to go back to weekly, but right now I just cant keep up with that pace. Thank you all for sticking with this story and I really hope that the change in upload pace doesn't put you off ❤️

Collins slept unusually well and woke early, as seemed to have been drummed into his head to do now. The town was misty with morning fog as he opened the front door of his house. Everything was a deep luscious green and every plant in sight had little drops of morning dew on its leaves, all of this Collins wasn’t able to see last night in the dark, so as he stood on the front doorstep, he breathed in the fresh air, and smiled a little smile to himself. Said moment was promptly ended when Parker decided to begin walking himself out of the house and down the street.

“What do ye think yer doing?!” Collins half yelled, having no choice but to walk after him in his pyjamas and slippers. Parker wasn’t walking quickly, thankfully, and with a certain amount of tone in his voice, Collins was able to get the dog to turn around and look at him. It was after Collins had walked over to Parker did he smell breakfast being cooked from another house, and now knew what had gotten into his dog.

“Silly bugger, we have food too ye know,” Collins said as he encouraged Parker back into the house. Though the dog had a large amount of food the previous night in front of the fire, Collins still wanted to give him breakfast, since he usually did feed him in the mornings anyway, it was good to keep a routine.

The day was passed mainly helping his ma at the shops, carrying the groceries leaving his da to relax around with the dog and collect firewood.

“So yer Jack’s little friend, heh?” the man asked Parker. They were in the backyard, it was fenced off with a primitive stick fence, and behind the house lay the great mountains and plains where the wild horses would sometimes graze. He was chopping wood as Parker sat patiently by the door, finding enough excitement in the beetles he was finding in the grass.

Day one without Collins on the airbase. It was a blue skies day at Gatwick, and everything was as relaxed as it would get, but the nagging feeling in Farrier’s stomach wouldn’t budge, now more than ever he hoped for no sorties. He was proud however, that Collins recognised needing time off. Worried, of course, that it was so soon, but glad at the same time. It was odd, it had been a while since Collins had gone off home. Farrier did as he usually did; busied himself with tidying tasks and other things that didn’t really need to be done. It was his way of keeping his mind from wandering, and if it was half useful, there wasn’t anything wrong with it.

The days in Aviemore were exactly what were needed. Collins had never realised how much coming home would help, but it did. He knew Benjamin was off training in Kingussie, he’d been told last time. It meant that although a small part of Collins wanted him to be around, just to make sure he was still around, he was largely relieved that he didn’t have to look around every corner, scan every group of people to see if Ben was there. It always was odd, because Collins had made it obvious after they were caught that he didn’t want anything to do with Ben, but respecting obvious signs that someone didn’t want him around was never Benjamin’s style, or at least it hadn’t been with Collins. He would walk up to him like nothing had happened, and Collins being who he was, would let him back into his life every time. Nobody brought Benjamin up either, which made the blonde feel even more relaxed, like his parents didn’t have a constant thought about him in their heads, or at the very least knew it wasn’t worth bringing up.

“We haven’t heard anything from any of them,” Stella said quietly.

“We haven’t received any letters telling us of anything else though, now have we?” Tilly said. The house was so quiet with only the two girls living in it. It was terrifying that the entirety of their bandmates who all lived with them were off fighting the war and they were left home. They were grateful that the boys’ earnings still went towards the rent, if it didn’t they’d have been kicked out long ago.

“It’s just quiet. And there’s never anything to do,” Stella continued as they sat on the balcony looking down at the street.

“There are still things to do, Stel. Make art, play music, go for a walk!”

“But none of the things we did when they all lived here. We can’t play our big card games, we can’t have huge debates or anything, because there’s no-one here.”

“I’m here,” Tilly said, a hand rested on Stella’s leg turning her head to face the redhead.

“They’ll come back for leave, you know. They can’t live there forever.”

“I know, I know. It’s just lonely.”

There wasn’t much Tilly could say, it was the truth. It was odd going from almost a dozen housemates to only two people.

“Oh, Tilly maybe we could go and see if Jack’s there,” Stella said. She’d let her cigarette go out as it sat between her slender fingers, she was fiddling with the filter with her thumb until Tilly tapped her hand to make her stop.

“We could definitely try it,” she smiled.

They walked down out of the house, both in their big coats. The walk through the streets was ridiculously short to the RAF base, turn a corner or two, cross a road, they were basically there. It had been such a spectacle when the airbase first started flying lessons. The whole town would look up to see the little yellow training planes of the interwar period putter along over their heads. Half the time, Tilly would be out on the balcony having her cup of tea with her lunch and would happily glance up to see someone training, often a few little planes together. And whenever the bomber trainer was used it was a spectacle. When the planes flew, she’d go and get Stella and Charlie, who were both quite interested in seeing them and together they’d watch until the planes headed back down. Gatwick RAF wasn’t secret at all, in the sense that it was very easy for the public to watch the tarmac. The front fence was simple black bars sharpened at the top with a short brick base. It was easy to look through it from the side of the building and see behind to the tarmac and fields beyond, and even easier if you were one of the people who lived next to the airbase, sitting in your backyard you had an excellent view over the back fence. That was never how it was for Tilly and Stella, but seeing the little biplanes in the air was close enough. Everyone had a fascination with planes though, not just them and their housemates. Their grandparents wouldn’t have dreamed that one day, man would fly the way he did now. After Stella shook her head at Tilly for asking if she was going to knock on the front doors, Tilly did herself. It was a good few minutes before someone opened it, a younger man with dark hair who they’d not met before, Davis.

“Good afternoon ladies,” he said with a tinge of confusion in his voice.

“We’re um, well we wanted to know if one of the pilots is there? Jack Collins?” Tilly asked. The man chuckled,

“No, he’s on leave actually. Are you friends of his?”

“Yes, we are.”

“Well, I think he comes back on Monday, but I should tell you two ladies. It wouldn’t be proper to let a pilot out of the base to be with friends while he is on active duty, you see,” Davis said as warmly as he could.

“Uh, well yes of course. Sorry to bother you, sir,” Tilly said, turning to go.

“You didn’t, madam. I’m Davis, Collins’ squadron’s lead flyer,” he said. Tilly smiled,

“I’m Tilly and this is Stella, we’re friends from around the block.”

“Oh, hold on now I recognise you!” Davis said to Stella, remembering her coming in when Collins was having problems with other students, the details of which were never really told in depth to Davis. After wishing them well, the two girls left the door and Davis went back inside.

The girls made do with watching what they could through the fence of the airbase. They could see warplanes lined up, Hurricanes and Spitfires if the plane recognition games in the newspaper served them well. They’d heard them overhead plenty, and caught glimpses a handful of times as well, the black and white underbelly was very striking, and even though a handful of times they had been on the balcony and seen the bomber trainer Gatwick used to have roar over their heads, it was a lot scarier to see armed fighters in the sky. A bomber trainer might be bigger, but a squadron of warplanes was so much more intense, and the sound they made was harsher; angrier. To see them sitting there in the sun wasn’t much more comforting either, aggressive stances and blindingly obvious camouflage paint.

“Wondrous wicked weapons,” Stella said quietly. Tilly hummed in agreement.

After some minutes, it became too heavy. They hadn’t walked up to the base to stand and watch ground crew work on warplanes which was somewhat unsettling to watch, even if fascinating. They’d come to see Collins, and if he wasn’t here, they’d go home.

“Well, an empty house makes some things easier,” Stella said before slapping Tilly’s arse without warning, the redhead unsuccessfully stifling a scream.

The days were rainier in Aviemore than in Gatwick. Marie knitted Parker a little dog coat to keep him warm, Parker wasn’t sure about it at first but after a few minutes he didn’t seem to care at all.

“He’s got a thick coat already ma!” Collins laughed as they sat around the fire, the afternoon grey light trickling in through the window as rain hit the glass. Parker was lolling on his back receiving tummy pats from James.

“Well, just in case!” Collins’ mother defended. She was a fast knitter, and even so made it a little big on Parker because it was obvious he hadn’t finished growing yet.

“He does look well good in it,” Collins remarked.

“Yer talkin’ like an Englishman now son,” James laughed.

“Am not!” Collins countered.

“A bheil cuimhne agad air seo fhathast?” James asked, surprising the hell out of everyone else in the house. Collins stared at him and swallowed before answering,

“Gu dearbh.”

“You two be careful speakin’ that, now,” Marie said.

“Nobody’s in the house, love. They cannae stop us in here,” James replied softly.

“Tha e freagarrach dha,” Marie said eventually, looking back at Parker with a smile.

Collins desperately wanted to tell them that he’d accidentally spoken Gaelic in front of an Englishman, in front of Farrier, but then he realised they’d want to know what he’d said, and he couldn’t tell them the truth, nor could he think of any decently believable lie, so he stayed quiet, content with being back together as a family and sitting in their little house in the afternoon rain. He wished Farrier could have been there though.

That week was difficult for a few reasons, but easier than time had been recently for other reasons. For once, just being off a military base meant that Collins’ immediate thoughts weren’t of war, not being surrounded by uniform and planes and ammo tins and ribbons of bullets being fed into the wings of his very own plane before take-off was a breath of fresh air, and it was even better that he had Parker with him. In some ways, it was better for Farrier, for he knew Collins was far removed and safe in Aviemore, a town in the middle of the Cairngorms that wasn’t under any real threat. If the Hun was going to invade, London was the first port of call, not some town with less than ten thousand people to its name.

It was harder for both of them for obvious reasons. Any time spent separated from one’s partner wasn’t easy, especially if one had come to know life involving seeing them every day. It was only a week, they both told themselves that many times.

It was on the 14th of the month that things changed, when a German U-boat sunk the HMS Royal Oak at Scapa Flow in Scotland, somewhere that was much closer to Aviemore than London was, somewhere that was a relatively well protected inlet, somewhere that nobody expected would be hit. Collins felt like he’d brought bad luck up north with him.

“You have done nae such thing, and what’s got ye believing in luck anyway?” his dad said,

“Well da when yer job involves getting shot at, luck gives you strength, sometimes luck is all there is,” Collins remarked sharply. His father had never been to war, and while Collins never thought him weaker for it, he was a university teacher, a job seen as important enough to continue it rather than go to war, it did mean that there was a disconnect between father and son experiences. Collins knew what it was like to be shot at, his father didn’t. It was as simple as that.

“Hear what happened at Scapa Flow?” Canfield asked Farrier. It was a cold grey October day, and Farrier was wishing more than usual that nobody talked about this damned war.

“Yeah, I heard.”

“Germany’s proclaiming the captain a national hero!” Canfield said, trying to give Farrier the paper as the man’s arms remained firmly crossed as he stood at the window in his office.

“Well,” Farrier said.

“Well what?”

“If one of our Navy boys had sunk a German battleship, don’t you think he’d be a national hero?”

Canfield begrudgingly agreed, but Farrier understood his anger. 883 British men had been lost in that single event. It wasn’t apathy that made Farrier say what he had, but he was tired. He was so tired of this and that side, even though the war wasn’t even two months old yet, he’d heard enough of it in the first war. Every man who had any political power thought their side was the right side, of course they did, why wouldn’t they? But, at the end of the day it really didn’t matter. People were going to die.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Way to end a chapter am I right? Honestly I wish I could have thought of something else but my brain did not give me anything else lol. Thank you all for the kudos I've received, it means so so much to me to know people enjoy my writing.  
> [ my tumblr ](https://s-n-o-w-p-i-e-r-c-e-r.tumblr.com)  
> [ afternoon pinboard ](https://pinterest.com.au/snovvpiercer/afternoon)
> 
> Until next chapter everyone ❤️


	17. The Comforts of Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Monday again and I'm finally back at uni- actually in the classroom! It felt really strange to be back after so long, but I'm grateful that we were allowed to. I hope everyone has a good week ahead of them and is staying safe ❤️

Collins’ goodbyes to his parents the following Monday were more sincere than ever, he hugged a little tighter, said his ‘I love you’s more slowly, more thoroughly. He didn’t want to go back to Gatwick, not really. It was almost like pretending there wasn’t a war the past week, being in Aviemore, as long as he ignored the fact that nobody had lights on at night and that there were three army trucks he’d spotted. He’d had time to walk to all the lochs out of town, to walk down to the river and sit for a while, to wander through the forest and come out at the top with a view over the valley. He’d been able to take life a bit more slowly, make time for himself and let himself process things more. He’d allowed himself to think about Dawson properly, not in a fleeting moment which ended in him telling himself to stop, but properly remembering his friend, remembering how wonderful he was and all the amazing things they’d done together, from Collins’ first and only swim in the ocean, to simple things like all the card games that characterised his early months at Gatwick.

He was on the train back down south early that morning. The fog still hung low around the garden, the air was still cold and blue, just as it had been when he left Gatwick early in the morning to head up a week ago.

“Ye have to write more, Jacky,” His mother said,

“I know, I forget. I will.”

“And call us if ye can! Even just for a minute!” said his father.

“I will da, I promise.”

The train was cold too, Parker the warmest thing in reach as Collins sat on the cold bench with one hand in his pocket and the other patting Parker. His parents stood on the platform and waved as the train began to pull out. They were so immensely proud of their boy, their only child. They hoped he knew that.

Collins was in a melancholy mood as the train passed Kingussie, knowing Ben lived there now, in some army barracks somewhere. He looked out to the landscape, where Ben did his training. Collins was glad he didn’t decide to join the army, he’d heard terrible stories from the soldiers of the first war, and he tried not to think about Ben facing the same conditions.

It felt faster going back down south. Collins was in a bit of a daze, glad he’d seen his family, not entirely looking forward to the dreariness that was becoming the military. Waiting around every day for something that rarely happened was stressful and spiked Collins’ anxiety, he’d rather either just be doing missions properly, or be staying in Aviemore where it was almost like the war hadn’t touched it. The countryside went past in a blur as Collins sat there, not really moving in his seat apart from eventually taking his hand off Parker and pushing it into his pocket. The train arrived back in Edinburgh, and Collins went back to the little hole in the wall pastry shop he usually did within the station. Some part of him told himself to remember this place, to try to smile more as he was given his lunch. Maybe he wouldn’t see this place again. Just as his mind had told him to stop thinking about a good future, it told him to stop thinking about a bad one, and the blonde continued on his way with Parker at his side. They arrived at the same old platform that the Flying Scotsman would depart from. But something was wrong, there was a different train on the tracks. The conductors were still calling for those heading to London to board, so Collins did. He stepped up into the train which felt very strange, even though it wasn’t dissimilar to The Flying Scotsman, the knowledge that it wasn’t that particular train irked the blonde. He found a seat, the train was more crowded than he’d expected it to be, but then again somehow it always seemed to be more crowded going into London than leaving it, but the older lady sitting opposite him didn’t seem to mind that Parker was looking to find a new friend in her.

As soon as the ticket collector came past, Collins took his chance to find out what had happened to The Flying Scotsman.

“Excuse me sir, I was just wonderin’ why this isn’t The Flying Scotsman today.”

“Wartime operations for the ole’ girl. They had her painted black, now she’s shovelling troops up and down from London to Scotland,” the man murmured, sounding like he wasn’t happy about what had happened either. Collins was probably one of the last to see that train in all her glory before she’d been plunged into war, just like the rest of the nation. The Flying Scotsman was a brilliant apple green, that was how Collins would always remember that train.

Lunchtime had turned into afternoon, and London was more crowded than Collins thought it should be, all things considered. He guessed people still had to go to work, do the shopping, life went on. He didn’t like the stares he got in the station having his uniform on, he completely understood why Farrier never wore it off the base if he didn’t have to, or any of the officers now that he thought about it. The RAF perhaps weren’t seen so fondly of in the public’s eyes. Perhaps seen as stuffy, the new military branch so therefor they must all be snobby, rude, probably think themselves above the Navy and Army. Collins didn’t understand why people saw them that way, the only justification was that nobody liked change. The RAF was so new, the public definitely hadn’t warmed to it at all. If only Collins knew how that would change in a year. After being on a large mainline train, the little one to Gatwick was almost cute. It only had two carriages as opposed to the seemingly endless amount on the one down from Edinburgh.

“Takes a while, doesn’t it?” Collins asked Parker. It was already late afternoon, it was a long day of sitting down and doing nothing, but luckily Collins had got on well enough with the elder lady across from him in the previous train, they’d even got talking about gardening for a while, not that the blonde knew much about it.

The entire time he’d been away from the airbase, there had been a feeling in his stomach. A gnawing thought at the back of Collins’ mind that he could almost ignore, but couldn’t. Farrier. The fact that anything could happen, and that the longer Collins spent away from Gatwick RAF, the riskier it was. Sitting in the little train with Parker, reality set in, and suddenly Collins felt guilty for taking leave. A whole week and anything could have happened, why did he think that was a good idea? What if he’d come back and one of the pilots wasn’t there? What if multiple weren’t? Collins’ thoughts broadened not just to think about the fact that it was possible Farrier might not be there, but anyone. What if Turner, if Corey, weren’t there? His mind raced as he forced himself to appear as calm as possible on the outside as not to alarm the others on the train, not that there were many.

When he stepped off the train, he couldn’t have been gladder to see the familiar roads of Gatwick town. He walked fast with Parker right at his heel, down the winding streets through the freezing cold wind no longer kept above chilling by the sun, which was now hidden behind a dark blanket of clouds making it appear even later than it was. As he walked, he saw on an adjacent corner a cloaked figure walking with a gas lantern in their hand. Immediately Collins’ mind recognised it as strange, now seeing someone with a light did not look normal.

“Hey! Ye cannae have a light out!” he yelled over the road. The person looked up, not that Collins could make out a face in the hood, and then continued to walk.

“Hey! I said-“ Collins yelled again, turning his gaze down to Parker as the dog began to pull hard on the lead, knowing he was close to the airbase. When Collins looked back up, the figure was gone, as if it had never been there.

Then in the distance Collins saw the airbase, all thoughts of whoever that had been disappeared, and he never knew seeing a military base could be such a comforting sight. He smiled to himself and broke into a jog, Parker more than happy to trot along. Walking through the familiar gates, Collins stood on the familiar steps and knocked on the familiar door. There was some realisation in the back of his mind that it was darker than normal at this time because the streetlights weren’t going to turn on to their full capacity, rather they would be dulled out with dimming caps placed on, but before he could really register it properly the door was opened by a familiar face.

“Afternoon,” Farrier said.

Collins was too shocked to say something smart back.

“That’s,” Collins began.

“Your line, yes.”

“I missed you,” Collins breathed as he walked past, barely above a whisper.

“And I, you.”

There was nobody else in the hallway.

“Where are the other men?”

“Common room, offices, putting the planes in the hangars for the day,” Farrier said. it was excruciatingly difficult to just act like he hadn’t been waiting a week to see this man, who walked in the door with his dog and had to also put up the front.

“And how was that, boy?” Farrier asked Parker.

“He loved it, fresh highland air did him some good, made friends with the beetles in my parents’ garden too.”

Farrier laughed at this, patting the dog’s head.

“Well, I might head upstairs,” Farrier said quietly.

“No dinner?”

“I will later.”

“Alright, well I’m gonnae say hello to the others,” Collins said. He almost missed the way Farrier’s hand brushed so lightly over his own before the man walked off. Almost.

The common room was buzzing with chatter and two games of cards.

“Look who it is!” Turner stood up and said as Collins walked in,

“Ye, evenin’ lads,” the blonde smiled, letting Parker walk in and become swamped with men excited to see him again.

“Good to have you back here, blondie,” Turner said, giving Collins a boyish shove in the shoulder.

“Good tae be back,” he smiled. It was good to be back, and it felt nice that people actually cared, and had missed him. Sometimes Collins did wonder. There were a lot of questions about how his leave was, how Parker was, what he did while he was away, all of them Collins answered with enough information to sound like he wasn’t trying to avoid it, but as little information as he could get away with. He was tired.

The next day, the Luftwaffe bombed Scapa Flow.

“Hit twice in the span of a week, good lord,” Canfield muttered over the paper. This time, it had been a training ship that was damaged.

“Near you?” Turner asked nonchalantly to Collins as they listened on the radio in the common room. The blonde cleared his throat,

“Sort of. Not really. ‘bout 130 miles away I think. Still home soil.”

There was no flying to be done that day, and it made it worse. There was nothing to concentrate on except Parker, which was doing as good a job as he could to keep Collins preoccupied. The man was in the kitchen when Farrier managed to nab a minute of alone time with him.

“How are things?” Farrier asked tentatively. He could tell something was the matter. Collins’ mouth twitched upwards, but his eyes did not smile with it.

“Okay, I’m having lunch.”

“I can see that pet,” Farrier smiled, leaning on the bench Collins was making a sandwich on.

“But you’re alright?”

“Mmhmm.”

Farrier wouldn’t push, he knew it never got anyone anywhere, but he also knew Collins wasn’t telling him the truth. He took a deep breath in,

“Like I told you, it’s okay not to be okay, and you can be yourself with me, love.”

He murmured it deeply, arms crossed and eyes worried, whole body showing how much he cared. How much he loved.

“It’s Dawson.”

Farrier hadn’t expected Collins to say anything more.

“I just…Should have listened to you,” Collins arrived at. He was going to say he missed Dawson, but missing him wouldn’t do anything. At least stating that meant he had learned his lesson.

“Pet, come on.”

“What? Told me not to get close, should’ve listened. That’s all,” Collins said. He was focusing too much on making his lunch and his eyes held a strange stare to them, like he wasn’t really feeling.

“Collins, you’re being stupid. Yes, you got close to someone, but you can’t just not make any friends,” Farrier said, going to get a mug from the cupboard for some tea.

“I donnae think my squadron want to be my friend. They all think I’m weird now, or are too scared to talk tae me because they might ‘set me off’ or something,” Collins said as he began to eat.

“I doubt that’s true, I see Turner and Corey talking to you often.”

“Yeah but they’re not being friends, it’s small talk.”

“Have you made an effort to be friendly then?”

Collins took a deep breath and looked like he was about to burst.

“That’s the whole problem, Farrier. I already did that once, and look where it’s gotten me.”

It was difficult, because on one hand, you had to make friends, because you had to trust your squadron, you had to have absolute faith in the men you flew beside that they would do their job as you would do yours. On the other, Farrier could see what losing Dawson had done to Collins, and it wasn’t easy to look at. Collins was different now. It wasn’t easy to think about, and by god, it wasn’t easy to think about what a man the blonde would be if it happened all over again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We love a cheeky bit of foreshadowing!! Or maybe we don't but I am unable to stop myself from writing it!!   
> [ my tumblr ](https://s-n-o-w-p-i-e-r-c-e-r.tumblr.com)  
> [ afternoon pinboard ](https://pinterest.com.au/snovvpiercer/afternoon)
> 
> Until next chapter everyone ❤️


	18. Forgetting and Remembering

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone, hope you're doing well this Monday ❤️   
> I swear I have short term memory loss because I did not know what was in this chapter until I edited it. Anyway, enjoy.

In the last days of October, a German plane had been shot down over Britain for the first time. It was a Heinkel He 111, a bomber. It had been particularly strange for Collins to try and wrap his head around, because it had been shot down over Haddington, a small town right next to Edinburgh.

Then on the 1st of November, Germany officially annexed Poland.

“You hear 603 and 602 are still squabbling over who got that Heinkel?” Canfield asked Farrier a few mornings after.

“Yeah, but who cares? One of them shot the thing down, that’s all that matters,” the brunette answered in his usual terse manner when it came to these things.

The weather was cold, everyone was in their Irvins now when they flew. It had almost been two months since Dawson’s departure from the earth, and Collins was finally regaining some sense of normality. He still broke down in moments that were completely unexpected, and he still saw the burning plane behind his eyelids, but there were times when he felt alright too. He was beginning to accept that Dawson was not coming back. It was an odd time for everyone. There was still this strange sense of slowness, not peace but inaction, but at the same time papers, radio channels and everything in between were full war talk. It had turned the public’s view on the RAF even more sour than it already was. It was said they weren’t helping when they could have been, which wasn’t the case. For Farrier, it had only gotten a little easier to warm to the new personality quirks Collins had begun to develop. He loved that man, and seeing him now just made Farrier want even more to be there for him, but the man knew that it was war. He’d already been to war before, and knew that even if he wanted, he couldn’t shield Collins from everything. A small part of him didn’t want to. A small part of him wanted to see Collins grow as a pilot, grow as a man, and one day grow to be bigger and better than himself. He wanted to see Collins succeed.

“So you’re loving this weather, correct?” Farrier asked the man as they stood in the common room with a group of others, it was raining and the noise was loud as the drops hit the windows. Parker was safe inside as well, sitting in the middle of a group of men who were all trying to teach him to shake.

“I may be, I assume you aren’t,” Collins smirked back.

“Ah, I don’t dislike cold weather that much,” Farrier said,

“But it is bloody cold!” he laughed.

The radio was playing softly, there was Parker preoccupying a group at one end of the room and a game of cards going on at the other, and there was the overarching feeling that had almost become normal, that feeling of relaxing, but also being ready to step out and fly with a moment’s notice. The men tried not to let the feeling get to them too much, there was nothing they could do until there was a sortie to go on, so they preoccupied themselves.

“I’ll have to get used to it if I ever want to get up north,” Farrier said quietly. Collins looked sideways at him, watched the pattern of the rain reflect on the man’s skin, watched as his eyes scanned outside through the fields, the way the colour of them always seemed to match the sky, be it blue or grey.

“I want you to.”

“To go up there?”

“Mm, told my parents about my good friend the Squadron Leader,” Collins said.

“Oh did you now,” Farrier smiled, eyes still looking out into the rain.

“I sure did, and they want to meet my friend,” Collins smirked. Farrier shook his head and looked down. Nobody was listening to the conversation, worry about being overheard wasn’t what made him drop his gaze. It was just difficult, the life they had to live, that he would have to introduce himself as Collins’ friend, not partner, lover, boyfriend. Just friend.

It began to get dark, the rain didn’t stop, if anything it got harder as the sun went down, not that anyone had gotten a glimpse of it all day behind the thick cloud cover. Another day without action, though today, Collins didn’t mind. He didn’t feel restless, nor did it leave him a whole day alone with his thoughts, and it was because Farrier had made sure of it. The blonde had been in the common room for most of the day, as had most of the men, but it was because Farrier had been chatting to him for most of it that he could say to himself that it hadn’t been a bad day. There was no chance Collins wouldn’t be visiting Farrier to thank him either. He did so after everyone had eaten and after the night time shenanigans in the common room had calmed down, all cards packed away and Parker asleep in his bed downstairs.

“I appreciate it,” Collins murmured, standing at Farrier’s dressing table looking at his things.

“You’re welcome, pet,” Farrier said, and Collins heard him stand up and take a few steps away from the bed he had been sitting on.

“I know we’re private, but I don’t see it as odd that two men happen to get on well and talk to each other, do you?”

“No, I don’t,” Collins said. He hadn’t turned around yet, his long fingers were fiddling with Farrier’s tin of hair gel, not really concentrating on anything but the looming warmth he could feel radiating off the man behind him, who’s front was almost touching Collins’ back.

The brunette sighed, and a hand reached softly for the blonde’s hand which hung by his side.

“I just wish we didn’t have to only be friends in front of everyone else.”

Collins turned around to see Farrier more sombre looking than expected,

“There are a few who accept us, you know.”

“I know, but not many. I just wish… Well… Whenever I do meet your parents, you know?” Farrier said, taking Collins’ hands both in his own now.

“I wish so too, Farrier, but ye know that isn’t likely,” Collins said flatly.

“I know, pet. I’m glad I never have to be anyone else with you though,” the brunette smiled softly, giving Collins those eyes, that look that the blonde just knew meant Farrier wasn’t hiding anything, what he was saying was pure and true. Farrier pulled Collins’ hands and put them on his sides, pushing his body closer to the blonde’s until their chests bumped. Farrier’s hand curled around the back of Collins’ neck, but he needn’t pull his partner in to meet his kiss because Collins moved there himself. It had been too long since their lips had touched like that. Not some quick peck, but a kiss. Soft, slow. Farrier’s lips moved against Collins’, warmth spreading between them as the rain pelted down above. Collins was the first to break away, and when he did, he had this look in his eye, one Farrier couldn’t place. The blonde looked down at the floor for a second as if thinking of how to word it, before looking back into Farrier’s eyes.

“Help me forget.”

For a second Farrier was stuck there, looking at Collins with a horrible feeling in his gut, but how could Farrier not do what he was asking of him? Perhaps there should have been a conversation about dealing with this properly, talking about things, but there wasn’t. All there was were Farrier’s hands on Collins’ body and lips on his, pulling him towards the bed, barely letting their bodies stray from each other’s until finally Farrier’s back hit the mattress and Collins was on top of him. They sighed into each other, it had been too long. Farrier’s hand grabbed at his shoulder and pushed Collins’ body off of his own, the look in the brunette’s eyes only describable as desperate. Desperate to help Collins forget. He rolled onto the younger man, pushing his partner down with all of his weight and pushing his lips onto Collins’ once again. It was music to his ears to finally hear him moan quietly under him, something he hadn’t heard for so long, or what felt like it. Farrier relished in the feeling of the man’s hands coming up around his shoulders and his legs falling apart so easily, how he could feel Collins’ breath hitch as he ran his tongue over his bottom lip. All these small things that he’d missed were finally all in front of him, and it was flooding Farrier with adrenalin.

Collins felt more emotional than usual. This was the first time he’d been ready for anything since Dawson’s passing. He was still trying not to think of it, even as Farrier licked into his mouth and did the best he could to distract him. A deep voice wafted through Collins’ thoughts,

“Hey, you’re here.”

Collins had used those words on Farrier before, when he’d been ‘going back’. Something in the blonde’s gut kicked, shouted at the thought that he was going down the same path, and then Collins pulled Farrier harder down onto him, ground up against him and let go of his shoulders to start undoing the man’s pyjama shirt. He would not allow himself to be resigned to the life of someone who couldn’t fuck because they were stuck in the past. Farrier reared up and showed his sun kissed skin off as he got rid of his top. Scars didn’t mean less beautiful to Collins, they meant a story. History. What was catching Collins’ eyes however were Farrier’s identification discs hanging around his neck.

“You’re still wearing them?” Collins asked quietly. His own were on his bedside table, he didn’t wear them when he didn’t have to.

“I have been known to forget to put them on before flying, so I leave them on, yeah. Does it bother you?” Farrier asked. He hadn’t really thought about it, that Collins would have a reaction to them. If he was honest he had forgotten they were on at all. The blonde thought for a moment before replying, let the feeling wash over him to be sure he knew exactly what he was feeling when he looked at Farrier’s identification discs lying on his golden chest. He felt something, but it wasn’t bother.

“No, doesn’t bother me.”

Then Farrier was straddling him, giving him those eyes as he undid each button on Collins’ own pyjama top slowly and deliberately. After all this time he was still checking it was okay, still giving the blonde every opportunity to refute his actions. The rain was almost deafening at this point, and the wind howled outside the building to the point that even with the heating on, the cold still seeped through the glass window a little. Collins’ thoughts were distracted again, cold from the window turned into cold in the air turned into Dawson in the air turned into Dawson in the ground. A warm hand cupped Collins’ face and gently pulled his gaze from the window back onto Farrier.

“Are you with me?” he asked over the rain. Collins took another breath.

“I am.”

Farrier descended on Collins again, but slower this time, pressing their bodies together, skin on skin. Collins could feel the ID disks between them, but it wasn’t a bothersome feeling, it was something strange. In a way, he didn’t mind seeing them on Farrier. Perhaps it was the reminder of what they did for a living, a reminder to be present and live in the here and now. Enjoy the moment. Maybe it was something more primal than that; to see a man with his identification disks on, to see that he was a fighting man, and to know who Farrier was, to know he was formidable. There was a hand around the band of his trousers now, inching them down his body. Collins lifted his hips up and roughly shoved them down himself, Farrier’s hand leaving and dealing with his own trousers. Collins wasn’t sure if he knew it was real until he heard that guttural sound in the back of Farrier’s throat. Up until then he wasn’t sure if he was really there or not, but that sound solidified in his mind that he was definitely awake and present. The look in his eyes had changed from soft and desperate to help to outright need and Collins got a feeling in the pit of his stomach then, one he hadn’t had for a long time. Excitement. He let himself lay there as he felt Farrier’s warm lips on his neck, tried to relax into the sensation and tried very hard to ignore the fact that his mind had just wondered if Dawson had brought the rain down so hard to give them an opportunity to be together. He shook himself of such a thought and closed his eyes, focusing on the sensation, on the weight of another body on his, on Farrier’s smell filling his nostrils. He dipped his head to catch Farrier’s lips on his, the man exhaling in content and smiling knowing Collins did want this, did want him. He tentatively reached a hand down between them, and pushed below the band of Collins’ underwear, and wrapped his fingers around the man’s length. Collins’ eyes opened for a brief moment, though once Farrier began to move his hand gently up and down they soon fell closed, and their lips touched once more. Then Collins too reached a hand down, and the man above him gasped as his lithe fingers made their way into his boxers and around him. They broke the kiss to look at each other, ground each other.

It wasn’t long before both of their boxers were on the floor and slick fingers were pushing up inside Collins, the blonde letting his head lay back on the pillow and thanking the rain, for if it hadn’t been there the bitten off groan he made would definitely have been heard. Farrier could tell Collins was getting sensitive, he was writhing and squirming, so the man let go of his dick altogether. His hand moved to his own, brushing Collins’ fingers off, not that the blonde was concentrating much on working Farrier up and down anymore. Farrier had missed this more than he cared to admit. The last thing he wanted was to push Collins into something while he wasn’t in the right mindset, and it had been surprising to the brunette that his partner had wanted to at all tonight. Maybe some surprises were good, Farrier thought. A feeling ached through his length and deep into his body, watching Collins beneath him, chest rising and falling. It was an ache to be inside him. He let go of his cock and instead reached his hand up over the blonde’s pale skin, over the expanse of his stomach, finding itself on his waist, grabbing the soft skin there. Half a smile ghosted over Collins’ mouth as he twitched at the almost ticklish feeling, and it made Farrier smile too.

“Mm’ready,” Collins murmured, eyes opening showing that they were dark with lust, they held a look of… Farrier couldn’t quite place it, but it was a very grownup look. One he couldn’t imagine seeing on the lad that walked into Gatwick over a year and a half ago, it was a look that perhaps resembled one of excitement, because one knew what was coming. One of experience.

Farrier leaned over Collins once more, pressing their dicks together flat against their bodies as he kissed him once more, fingers still inside the blonde curling upwards and making Collins shudder beneath him, gasp against his lips. Farrier sat up again,

“Me too.”

Collins still tensed in anticipation, maybe he always would, but he wasn’t scared. Not in the slightest. He watched Farrier slicken himself up with spit, the look he had in his eye as he looked back at Collins made the blonde’s stomach churn. A strong hand grabbed one of his thighs and pushed it aside, opening his legs more as Farrier moved in between them. He placed a hand to the side of Collins’ shoulders and used the other to guide himself in, not taking his eyes off the blonde for a moment as he held his body above him. Collins felt the blunt head against him once again, that familiar feeling of anticipation building as he looked up at Farrier and gave a little nod.

As he pushed in, Collins closed his eyes and tried to relax, tried to untense himself and ignore the sting. But at the same time, he relished in the feeling, there was pleasure and it far outweighed any pain. Farrier let go of himself as he buried himself inside Collins, both arms on either side of the blonde as he laid himself down and groaned as he pushed in past the tight ring of muscle. When Collins opened his eyes, Farrier’s were trained on him. The brunette smiled and let out an airy chuckle, glad some things hadn’t changed. Collins’ hand wandered up onto Farrier’s cheek, bringing him to his lips. Farrier pulled out gently, and pushed back in as they kissed, groaning into each other’s mouths. He couldn’t keep it at a slow pace for long, and he could tell that tonight, Collins didn’t need him to. Soon their bodies were jolting with each thrust so much that holding a kiss together was impossible.

Farrier’s back became marred with pink lines from Collins’ nails and the blonde was flushed right down to his chest as he lay there. If Farrier didn’t keep up such a relentless pace he would have been able to do something, anything to feel like he wasn’t just lying there getting it, lifted his hips, tried to push back, but it was impossible. Farrier slammed in hard and Collins choked on the air he was breathing, eyes snapping open and looking at the man, not that it did anything to slow him, not that Collins wanted it to. The brunette reared up then, and Collins immediately felt vulnerable without a body pressed up on his, though it meant he could finally reach his own dick. Farrier grabbed both of his thighs and pushed them apart, almost painfully so, and rested his knees on either side of the blonde’s hips. Farrier’s hands grabbed his waist, his thumbs rubbed circles over his lower stomach on either side of his cock before again he started up his relentless thrusts. Collins took his own length and began to move his hand up and down, lazily at first but eventually with a vigour to match his partner’s efforts. It was hot and fast and suddenly everything felt too much and not enough. Collins swallowed and forced his eyes open again, looking at Farrier, who knew exactly what the look meant. He was close too, and his orgasm was coming on faster than he anticipated. Seeing Collins open his eyes with that look in them, that desperate look cloaked in the unmistakable heavy-lidded look of lust, soon Farrier was consumed by an overpowering feeling that sent him over. Collins continued to watch as the man’s eyes closed and his brow furrowed. The bitten off groans that left his mouth, the blonde would always remember as he felt Farrier’s hot seed shoot inside him, felt it properly, not yet hazed by his own orgasm, but it wasn’t far off. Farrier shuddered and swore under his breath, still lazily thrusting more out of muscle memory than anything else, and it was as Collins watched him gasp for breath that the feeling that was building inside him came hard. Perhaps he’d shut his eyes, perhaps they were open and he was just seeing stars. His thoughts became blurred as he rode out his peak and he vaguely registered Farrier pulling out and collapsing next to him. There was so much emotion and Collins wasn’t entirely sure what all of it was, but it was too much. He lay there on his back, mouth open and breathing deeply, and as he lay there, tears began to form in his eyes. They fell down his cheeks, the wet sensation prickly and ticklish, juxtaposed to the intense sensations of minutes earlier. Collins rubbed them away with his fingers before they reached his ears.

It was one of the most satisfying orgasms Farrier had ever had. He didn’t know why, and maybe there didn’t have to be a why. As he turned to Collins, he smiled sleepily before then realising that he could see the trail of a tear down the blonde’s cheek.

“Collins, what is it? Are you alright?DidIhurtyou _what’swrong_?”

To the blonde’s ears it all snowballed into one urgent sentence that was somehow way too much for him to process properly. He rolled onto his side, recognising the need to let Farrier know he hadn’t caused anything.

“Not you, Farrier,” he said, and immediately the man half sat up next to him, an arm over the blonde’s shoulder.

“Then what?”

Collins couldn’t answer properly. Deep inside, he knew part of it was Dawson, but that wasn’t all of it. Perhaps it was just too much good emotion, finally being intimate again with his significant other. Whatever it was, it was a lot. He shrugged, knowing it was a weak answer. Farrier sighed,

“You don’t have to know, pet. You don’t have to tell me either.”

They lay there for a while, in each other’s arms. Collins calmed down, as did Farrier as they both listened to the rain together.

“I’m lucky to have you,” Collins murmured. Farrier let out an airy chuckle.

“I’m the lucky one, pet.”

It was difficult to know they could no longer sleep an entire night in the same bed at Gatwick, what if someone knocked on Collins’ door tomorrow and he wasn’t inside? At least, they thought, they’d see each other in the morning. It wasn’t like saying goodbye before a flight, stolen glances across the tarmac with an unignorable worry in their hearts. They hugged tightly, murmuring _I love you_ into each other’s shoulders before they finally parted ways for the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Auugghhh I haven't written smut in so long and I honestly struggled to even edit my own writing!! I must be turning into an old prude lol. Thank you all for reading and for the kudos I have received throughout the week ❤️  
> [ my tumblr ](https://s-n-o-w-p-i-e-r-c-e-r.tumblr.com)  
> [ afternoon pinboard ](https://pinterest.com.au/snovvpiercer/afternoon)
> 
> Until next chapter ❤️


	19. "Dear Ma and Da"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Monday folks! I hope everyone enjoys this chapter, hopefully I got rid of any typos lol, I've been such a scatterbrain the past 2 weeks because my partner and I got accepted for an apartment! So I have been running around like a headless chicken organising everything heheh.  
> I hope everyone is safe and well!! The next chapter u see will be uploaded from a different house omg (yes i might be slightly excited)

November was nearing its end, and there had been both good and bad news during the month, though more bad than good. Hitler had postponed his western offensive, but had also escaped an assassination attempt. More magnetic mines caused losses of allied shipping, the Luftwaffe had begun parachuting magnetic mines into the Thames estuary, and in the last week alone magnetic mines accounted for 60,000 tons of Allied shipping off the east coast of Britain. Rarely did the men at Gatwick get vectored to meet the Germans dropping said mines, it was usually done too fast and the planes had sped back over the channel by the time the RAF at Gatwick could have gotten to the estuary. It wasn’t the closest base either, so it didn’t make sense. Perhaps the most promising thing to come out of the month so far, was the repeal of the U.S. neutrality law.

The weather was cool and interestingly enough, Parker seemed to be loving it. Gatwick was better equipped for war now. The dugouts down the sides of the runways had been completed, and they had enough room for the amount of men there might be on any given day at the airbase, plus extra for storage. Collins did find it rather amusing that the base originally had a proper lined bunker for this exact purpose, but that apparently radar took precedence, not that it had even been used for actual radar yet. It was still just a radio room, which both communicated with the pilots in the planes but also relayed information from the official sightings sent down the line. One day it would play its part, however.

“Sounds nice,” Corey said in his usual quiet and oddly peaceful way as Collins described how the dining hall used to be.

“It was, much easier to have all yer food cooked for you than to try and squeeze your way through the kitchen like we do now.”

“Mm, my old base sort of had one, but it was more like the Reims one, and was always freezing cold in there,” Corey said.

Farrier was slowly getting used to the fact that now, he didn’t always fly out with his squadron members. That they went in sections of three, meaning more often than not, he would watch three of his men fly off without him. Today was one such day, so as the brunette stood outside trying to pass time, he found himself hoping they would be alright, and feeling the restrictive feeling he had come to know very well at the end of the first war when he was down. Not being able to help. He told himself to go inside, they’d be back soon and there was nothing he could do about what was going to happen, good or bad.

As soon as he reached the doorstep to the back entrance he could hear the engines in the distance. Farrier chuckled to himself, he needed to get a life, had he really been standing outside for hours waiting? A few more men came out to watch the planes land, as they often did. Farrier’s ears picked up on it before the planes were in sight, before the younger pilots had heard something off. Canfield was outside now too.

“Tom, it sounds quiet.”

“I know,” Farrier murmured. Canfield watched his body tense, fingers fiddling at his sleeves, jaw twitching as the brunette’s eyes stayed glued to the sky.

Only two planes flew into view.

Farrier swore under his breath. He knew it was too good to be true, only one casualty so far. It was a matter of time. The two Spitfires came in to land, and out jumped Micks and Jackson.

Not Finn.

Micks and Jackson both looked visibly pale from shock.

“What the hell happened?” Farrier asked as soon as he could get in earshot of their answers.

“Met some Germans in the air,” Micks said.

“How many? What happened?”

“Two, 109’s. Managed to put some holes in one and it limped off. They got Finn, but we saw his parachute,” Jackson said. a wave of relief washed over Farrier at those words.

“Well where did it happen over?”

“France,” Jackson said breathlessly.

“France?! Well he might make it back then!” Farrier said, too wired to even smile, eyes wide in surprise that Finn wasn’t dead, or might not be at least.

“Come on Farrier, let the men get inside,” Canfield said, popping up next to him.

“Finn bailed, they saw his ‘chute over France. He might come back,” Farrier said.

“Oh goodness, well that’s good news!” the older man said. the news got passed down the line and around the tables in the common rooms. All anyone could do was hope Finn was alright and that he’d turn up in a week or so.

“So what happened to the other 109? Did he fly off with his wingmate?” Farrier asked the two men as they filled in their logbooks inside.

“Sure did, guess he thought two against one wasn’t a good gamble,” Micks replied.

At the end of the month, Russia invaded Finland.

“So much happening,” Turner said to Collins quietly one night in the common room.

“I know, and so fast.”

“I still feel like we’re useless,” The Irishman said, reaching a hand down to pat Parker who lay at Collins’ feet.

“I do too,” Collins replied. There wasn’t much else to say, he _did_ feel useless, especially hearing how much was going on around them, and how seemingly removed they were. Even Timson seemed to have more to do than Collins, dropping leaflets and what not, and he still found time to send a letter which Collins hadn’t gotten around to replying to. It did make him realise that he should send letters home. He’d said he would anyway, so after the shock of Finn not coming home had dulled slightly, Collins got to writing in his room.

_Dear Ma and Da. 28.11.39_

_I hope you are well, and I hope nothing has changed since I went up. Today one of the pilots in the other squadron didn’t come back. We think he parachuted out over France, so hopefully he shows in the next week. I haven’t had to bale out before, it sounds difficult to get out of the way of the plane. But I won’t crowd this letter with war talk._

_Parker is still growing. His legs are long and his body hasn’t caught up yet. I’m thinking about teaching him ‘stay’, it would definitely help, he is getting naughty. There’s a paint stain on the tarmac here because he knocked over the paint bucket, and some of the men’s uniform sleeves (including mine) have marks from his sharp puppy teeth. Luckily I haven’t gotten in trouble for it. I’m glad they let me keep him here at all considering he’s so misbehaved._

_My friend in Bomber Command sent me a letter recently. I was just beginning to worry something horrible about him. I don’t like that now we don’t know what’s happened to a person unless we get a letter. We can’t assume they’re just living their life now._

Collins stopped writing for a moment. He kept going back to the topic of war, and he couldn’t stop himself. It was like it was all he had to say, and that he hated most of all.

_I have nae had much time to do my drawings lately, perhaps you’ll be glad to know. Last time was on the train back from my last visit. Did you know the Flying Scotsman is transporting army men now and was painted black? I was sent back from Edinburgh to London on some other locomotive. Ticket master didn’t seem pleased with the situation either._

He wondered if he should bring Farrier up in the letter. On one hand, the blonde thought it was important to plant the idea that the man was a good friend in his parents’ minds, but on the other hand was it odd to write about a fellow friend in a letter? Maybe he was overthinking it. Probably.

_It’s been slow to move on with things since we aren’t out flying much. We have to be ready to be sent up, but we rarely actually do get vectored. I almost wish we got more missions, sitting around is tense._

_I’ve also decided that I don’t need most of my military wage. I think I will send most of it up to you. Hopefully it can help things, especially now. I’ll have to sort it out at the bank, but I don’t have anything to spend my money on, and I don’t want to hoard it all. Don’t tell me not to make this decision, I want to do my part for the household, even if I’m not there right now. Help pay off my school debt at the very least._

_Parker says hello._

_Love from Jack._

He looked down at his letter, hoping it was alright. Everything about it seemed wrong, inadequate. Collins had never really considered himself all that good at writing. He was grateful he’d been put through school and at least knew _how_ to write, but he was never eloquent in his words on paper. Come to think of it, he wasn’t that eloquent in his speech either. Opting to ignore that fact, he sighed and folded the piece of paper in half. Though he wasn’t too happy with it’s contents, he didn’t think he could do much better if he tried again anyway.

“Think it’s alright?” he asked Parker as the dog sat next to him. Canfield had all but abandoned trying to enforce the rule that the dog stayed downstairs, it was near impossible to keep Parker off Collins’ heels when the blonde went upstairs anyway. The blonde got his answer in the form of Parker trying and almost succeeding to eat the letter.

In two days, Finn showed up one evening.

“Hello all of you,” he said waltzing into the common room. He was greeted with a chorus of cheers and shouts and was quickly enveloped in a group hug. Collins joined in, partially from relief and partially just not to be the strange one. He wondered if people would ever miss him that much.

“So what on earth happened?” Jackson asked.

“Well, went down in France. Good thinking, I stuffed my map into my uniform before baling out. Figured out roughly where I was and just had to walk, I did!”

“Where?” Jackson asked again. Collins looked around and realised Farrier was not in the room.

“Nearest airbase. Don’t ask me to pronounce the place but it was in the Reims area, I’ll have to copy it from the map to put it in my log I’m sure. But there was an RAF bomber squad based there as part of the Advanced Striking Air Force. Flew Fairey Battles they did.”

The Advanced Striking Air Force was a bomber group sent over to France with the BEF. They’d been there since August. It was then that Farrier walked in.

“Finn!”

“Good to see you, Squad Leader!” Finn smiled, the men embracing.

“How’d you get back?”

“Got a flight in a Fairey Battle over the channel, then I sat on the train like a lazy bugger for a few hours.”

Collins had a lot of feelings over Finn’s return, not all of them what he should have been feeling. He felt hard done by in a way, why did Finn get to come back but not Dawson? Collins sat there after a group hug he was pulled into had eventually dispersed and saw that Farrier was looking at him. The man subtly nodded his head in the direction of the door, and then got up and left after giving Finn another handshake and pat on the back. Collins waited a few minutes, as they’d learnt to do, to dance around each other, leave gaps here and there.

He found Farrier in the kitchen after the blonde had checked several other rooms, since the man had not given any indication of where he was actually wanting them to go to. It was nearing dinner, so no doubt there wouldn’t be much alone time in the kitchen.

“Are you happy he’s back?” Farrier asked. His arms were crossed over his chest as he leant against the bench, his eyes staring into Collins’ in an almost scrutinising way. He could tell Collins hadn’t been all there in the room with Finn.

“Of course I was, I was. It’s just not fair, ye know.”

Farrier sighed,

“I know. War isn’t fair though, is it? It can’t be, it won’t be. Ever. Look, just be happy for Finn yeah? Don’t let him see that part of you isn’t.”

“It’s not like that Farrier, you know that. I’m not, _not_ happy for him at all-“

“Collins. It’s… Okay to be selfish,” Farrier said quietly. Collins was surprised firstly because he’d been cut off, and secondly at the man’s words.

“I… What?” the blonde said, crossing his arms too.

“I know it’s war, Collins, and I know it’s good that Finn is alive and well and I know that we have this dangerous job and… Sometimes, those are all reasons that we should be looking out for ourselves, and… Feeling the way you are is normal.”

Collins really hadn’t expected Farrier to tell him it was alright to feel the way he was, but he was glad he had. Farrier also never cut Collins off, the blonde knew it was important if he’d done that.

“Thank you,” Collins muttered.

“It’s alright. I know it sounds bad, and it probably is, and I’m probably just insensitive as usual, but we have to try not to feel emotional about these things, but when we do, I don’t think pretending we aren’t feeling hard done by the world just to make someone happy is a good idea.”

“Surprised ye would give such advice.”

“Are you?”

“You have a nigh impenetrable wall in front of you,” Collins said with a hint of humour in his words.

“It’s different, that’s just me not being comfortable around people, not joking or talking about myself. Have you ever seen me try to pretend I’m overjoyed when I’m not?” Farrier asked. Collins had to laugh at this, and it was then that Turner and Finn walked in.

“Old man Canfield just gave some news you might’ve wanted to hear Farrier,” Turner said.

“What might that be?”

“Next week more men are arriving to fill out the squadrons, said we can all take two in seven days leave every single week!” Turner said happily.

“Oh, that _is_ good news. Thanks for passing it on Turner, I’m sure we’re all looking forward to regular leave, I know I am,” Farrier laughed. It was a lie.

“Me too, even though, all things considered I did just have two unplanned days of it!” Finn laughed.

“Well, that’s one way to put it,” Collins smiled. He agreed with what Farrier had just told him, but he wasn’t just going to blank Finn because of some selfish feelings towards the past which could never be changed.

“Anyway, what are you two lurking about in the kitchen for?” Turner asked. Collins froze, and he was grateful for Farrier’s quick thinking.

“That’s just it, we’re lurking around getting the best bits for dinner before the rest of you lot get here!”

“Fair enough, fair enough,” Turner smiled, opening the fridge. Collins was still amazed at the fridge itself. His house didn’t have one, which wasn’t unusual. They had an ice box, but in winter they just kept things outside.

Collins looked in the fridge as Farrier looked in the pantry, hyper-aware of each other and now trying to make sure they weren’t too close to one another in front of the other men now here. Farrier’s mind was racing at the idea that he would be getting two days’ leave every single week. That was a nightmare waiting to happen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for reading!  
> [ afternoon pinterest ](https://pinterest.com.au/snovvpiercer/afternoon)  
> [ my tumblr ](https://s-n-o-w-p-i-e-r-c-e-r.tumblr.com)
> 
> Until next chapter everyone ❤️


	20. The New Blood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I very nearly forgot to upload this.... But! I moved out!! It has been a very crazy and stressful few weeks but I am finally beginning to feel normal again (and I finally have time to write now!)
> 
> This one's a bit short!

December came around, and with it came lifted spirits. The thought of Christmas gave everyone something to focus on besides the war. That, and the men were grateful to meet the new members of the squadrons, knowing they meant everyone would get more leave. It also meant that the men were no longer as tied to the rigid positions within their squadrons, anyone could be placed anywhere. Collins saw both good and bad sides, on the plus side some days he might not have to lead a section, but on other days perhaps he would have to lead the entire squadron. Men would try to stick to the positions they were used to of course, but there was no longer such a strict structure to it. It was mainly said that in the event of a last minute scramble, one might just have to take whatever position he ended up in. Farrier wasn’t pleased. He was lead flyer, and didn’t want to give up that position. It wasn’t just selfish want for leadership, it was far from it in fact. It was because he felt he needed to be the one that, if something went wrong, could take the blame. He didn’t want to see another man, much less some green sprog take the fall for something. As a Squadron Leader, he was used to commanding men and with that, used to taking responsibility. He was grateful that it was doubtful anyone else would really lead though, men tended not to want to do it.

“Had enough frowning and contemplating for the day?” Canfield asked, causing Farrier to jump a little. He had no idea how that man managed to creep around so much. He was stood in the doorway looking out onto the tarmac as 102 did gravitational training in sections, breaking in the new members of the squadron.

“Never enough frowning and contemplating to be done,” Farrier smirked back.

“You could at least go and do what Davis is doing with your new men!”

“He’s using the airspace! I’ll get to know them all in time, how about you stop wandering and complaining?” Farrier asked in jest.

“I’ll take a page out of your book then, frown and contemplate.”

Farrier hummed at this and continued to watch outside. Collins was finally beginning to find his feet, it had taken a long time for him to begin to act anything like his old self after Dawson, and while Farrier was trying to accept that war did change people, and that Collins wasn’t exempt, he was still over the moon to see that smile on the blonde’s face. He was getting to know his other squad mates too, and the brunette was glad because Collins never did seem to have many friends.

“Interesting,” Canfield said.

“What?”

“The amount of time you spend watching men who aren’t yours.”

“I like seeing how Davis handles the squadron, it’s interesting to see how he does things. I’ve never really been in this position before, I’ve never been able to compare my work with a squadron to someone else,” Farrier said. He wasn’t lying, of course another huge and perhaps even more important reason he kept watching 102 was obviously Collins, but he also did find it fascinating to see how Davis handled a squadron of men. They did it very differently, he and Farrier, but both extremely effective. Canfield seemed to accept the answer anyway and eventually shuffled off mumbling something about how it was nearly Christmas and that he’d had a few ideas. Ideas for his own presents of course, not ideas for Farrier. The younger man chuckled and got back to his frowning and contemplating.

They were going up in sections, it meant that at least if a section was vectored, there were plenty on the ground to choose from, and since Gatwick’s airspace had been opened right up it meant the training section could get right out of the way of the path of a possible take off. That was what three of the men were currently doing, it was odd for Davis not being there with them. Gravitational training was somewhat easy to get wrong, and when it went wrong it went horribly wrong.

“Will ye calm down?” Collins smiled at him.

“Trying, failing,” Davis half laughed back.

“Not like you could control their planes from yours anyway,” Collins said. he immediately regretted his choice of words, and Davis saw the sharp shift in his eyes.

“I know, that’s the pilot’s curse isn’t it?” the man tried. Collins looked up solemnly and nodded.

“Sure is. Anyway, you’ll get worry lines like old man Farrier if you keep at it,” he said, a wry smirk finding its way onto his face.

“I’ll stop worrying when you do,” Davis said, alerting Collins to the fact that he wasn’t oblivious to how much the blonde had been worrying and thinking about Dawson. It wasn’t like his friend left his mind for long, there was just too much around to remind him, Hurricanes, Parker, the tree in the field, there wasn’t exactly an escape, just an acceptance.

“What are you two talking?” asked Igor. Nobody bothered trying to pronounce his last name, even if it went against protocol. He was Polish, and wasn’t the only Pole to join the squadrons. A few had made it out of Poland when hostilities began and wound up in Britain. Igor had already proven himself an excellent flyer, and someone with just as excellent banter. All the Polish men seemed to have this older nature to them, they knew what was going on and understood the extent of hostilities, unlike the British sprogs who’d barely seen flak. Collins liked to think he was at least a punch above some of the sprogs, all things he’d seen considered.

“Not much Igor, Collins was telling me to calm down,” Davis smiled.

“Yes! If you are stressing you won’t perform in the air, you must be very relaxed,” Igor said.

“Not too relaxed, mind you,” Davis countered.

“Mm, I don’t know there is a ‘too relaxed’. If you relax, you will be in the zone in your head. If you are not, you will be too worried to fly well,” the man explained.

“Well, if that’s what does it for you man,” Davis chuckled. It was definitely interesting hearing the opinions of pilots from other places in Europe, pilots who had seen vastly different skies to those the men at Gatwick had so far. It comforted Collins, the opinions they all seemed to hold. The casual nature to their conversations, the way they spoke about the enemy with plenty of antagonism, but no fear. It reminded him of Farrier a bit. Snarky.

It was his turn up before he knew it. The sky was ominously dark and threatening rain, Collins got into his plane along with Turner and Davis, the latter glad he at least got to ‘supervise’ some of the other pilots. Turner gladly reminded him that he would be doing the same thing whether Davis was there or not, getting a laugh out of the others.

Gravitational training was never the most comfortable aspect of learning to fly, but it was one of the most necessary. Often, the victor in the air depended almost completely on how many G’s the man could pull. Tighter turns, rolls and overall a more aggressive fighting style required more G tolerance. It hurt to train, it strained through the neck and head and everything felt so heavy and arduous in the plane, even sitting up and not letting oneself sag against the side of the cockpit while sideways was an effort, even while strapped into the seat.

“Be glad we aren’t doing bales in the air!” Davis said.

“I am!” Collins chuckled. He hoped he’d never have to bale out. They’d tried it on the ground, laying a mattress under the plane and climbing out and falling down onto it, but the blonde was paranoid of getting hit with the tail of the plane. His long legs didn’t help his case of getting clear of the aircraft, either.

That night, he remembered to ask Farrier how to get better at gravity training, something he’d been meaning to do. As they sat on Farrier’s bed soaking up the warmth from the heaters, the blonde asked his question.

“Well pet, it’s not something I can really give any tips for, you have to work up to it, you know?” Farrier said, resting an arm around Collins’ shoulders.

“Thought you’d say that,” the blonde smirked and let his head lay back against Farrier’s arm.

“I mean there are the things they’ve probably already told you, wiggle your toes, clench your hands, deep breaths, try to keep the blood flowing, but it takes time, and some people just find it easier than others.”

“’some people’ being you?”

“Maybe.”

Collins smiled.

“Remember when you told me you were an ace?”

“Sure do, you looked half scared to death!” Farrier laughed.

“Not scared, I was shocked, sure, but it was… admiration. And also realising why Dowding and the rest of them seemed tae know you,” Collins chuckled.

“Yeah, well it only takes five to become an ace, there are more of them than you think,” Farrier said. Collins didn’t miss that Farrier had called the aces ‘them’ not ‘us’. The brunette knew it was the way he’d answered “maybe” that had jogged Collins memory, he’d answered something along those lines when the blonde had found out about his ace status. While he didn’t mind too much being reminded, he did mind a little. Farrier wrapped the arm that hung over Collins’ shoulders tighter around him, hand curling down to touch his collarbone lightly, enough to make the man shiver. His pale blue eyes looked over at Farrier, assuming he was up to something at first, but upon seeing the man just smiling back at him he softened his gaze. There was no heat behind his eyes, just purity as he pulled the blonde in closer until after a few beats of their hearts, their lips touched. They were softer than Collins had remembered, not that it had been long since they’d kissed. That thought alone made him fuzzy, he still had moments of realisation, that this was real. Farrier did too, moments in which he realised he actually was kissing Collins, he was actually his partner, not some elaborate dream he was in. This was one such moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading, I hope you liked this one ❤️  
> [ my tumblr ](https://s-n-o-w-p-i-e-r-c-e-r.tumblr.com)  
> [ afternoon pinboard ](https://pinterest.com.au/snovvpiercer/afternoon)  
> Until next chapter, happy reading ❤️


	21. Novelties Wear Off

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello it is late here but! Chapter is up. I'll edit it in the morning if I can remember, just wanted to get it up tonight hehe.

Christmas was barrelling towards them, but somehow this year didn’t feel so Christmassy. Somehow the novelty wasn’t there as strongly. There were attempts to get into the Christmas spirit on all fronts around Gatwick. There was tinsel, little paper trees had been put around the place, and any planes not currently being flown had tinsel draped over them. Canfield had finally told Farrier what he had his eye on, this year it was a pair of binoculars.

“That little bird whistles every day and I can never see him!” the man complained in his office one cold morning. Farrier thought that for once, this was actually a worthwhile present.

“I’m sure he does. Any binoculars in mind? You’ve probably found some in some back alley store, correct?” he asked, and received a chuckle in response.

It was going to be a quiet Christmas for Tilly and Stella by the looks of it. Apparently the army didn’t grant leave just because it was a holiday, none of the boys were coming home during December. They had, however received letters from some of their band members abroad in Europe, and said letters were all in the very special place of the mantlepiece above the fire in the lounge.

“I just wish they were all here,” Stella said quietly.

“I do too Stel, I do too. They will be, one day. Hopefully sooner rather than later,” Tilly said. They couldn’t afford to get a real Christmas tree, and had been using the same fake one for almost a decade now, given to the household by one of the band members’ mothers, not that anyone could really remember who. There was a main wooden stick for the trunk, not unlike a broomstick handle except it had small holes up and down it. It was stuck into a stand and then branches made of bristles attached to wire were stuck into the holes.

“Sad excuse for a tree, isn’t it,” Stella laughed. It wasn’t tall, nor was it well decorated this year, as Stella had been tasked that job on account of Tilly really wanting the tree up but having to bake food for the Saturday market.

“It’s cute, stop moping,” Tilly replied. 

The tree at Gatwick was in stark contrast to that at the girls’ home. It was large, and everyone had helped to decorate it, including, not very helpfully, Parker. It smelled like pine sap, and it sat in 107’s common room having barely fit through the door.

“Why didn’t we have a tree here last year?” Collins asked Canfield.

“No real reason, I think we forgot to put one on order and then couldn’t find any last minute!” the man smiled. The tree had been finished in an afternoon, the feeling of doing something at least making the men feel like they were a tad more ready to go on a possible sortie than if they had just been lazing around.

“This has got tae be the biggest tree I’ve ever seen,” Collins said to the older man.

“She’s very tall indeed. Do you have real trees at your house usually young man?”

“Aye, we can just about walk out the front door and find one we want somewhere,” Collins smiled.

“But they’re usually shorter than me, cannae have too big a tree or it won’t fit,” he explained. They didn’t have the wide doorways and high ceilings like Gatwick.

“So… How are you doing?” Canfield asked. The man wasn’t looking at Collins, still his gaze was ahead at the tree in front of them, but his tone was soft.

“I’m… Okay,” Collins said bravely. He knew exactly why Canfield was asking, and part of him was glad the man was keeping an eye out for him, but another part of him just wished people would drop it.

“Well, I’m glad to hear that. I hope you’re not dwelling on things.”

“Trying not to Canfield,” Collins said, forcing his voice to be strong. It helped not to dwell when people stopped bringing things up. The fact that he’d said the officer’s name back to him alerted him to the fact that he was making Collins think about the thing he was trying not to.

“Of course. Well, you know we’re all here to talk to, don’t be a stranger,” he said, before walking closer to the Christmas tree to help some of the men put tinsel back onto it which Parker had pulled down in some frantic attempt to make a toy out of it.

By the end of the day, more souring news had come of the war. 12 of 24 RAF Wellington bombers had been shot down by German fighters while attempting to attack naval targets around Wilhelmshaven and Schillig Roads.

“Now your friend doesn’t fly Wellingtons does he?” Canfield asked. It was unnerving Collins why the man was spending so much time with him today.

“No, Wingnut flies Blenheims.”

“Ah, good. Well, not every day can be a good one,” Canfield said of the casualty rate from the bombers’ mission.

“Indeed. ‘Specially in war, it seems,” Collins said back. They were in the kitchen, most of the men had already gotten their food but the blonde had hung back hoping to see Farrier without anyone else in the room. Instead he got Canfield chattering. It was something that, in a way, he had missed. The idle chit chat the man always seemed to be bursting with, it was endearing in a way.

That night, the rain came. Sometimes Collins forgot how normal rain was down here, but when he stepped back and thought about it, half the time the air just had tiny droplets in it, too light to call rain but definitely there, and that was unusual. In Aviemore, sure it was rainy, it was part of Britain after all, but not like this. Rain had become a secret signal between he and Farrier, background noise meant they could see each other with less chance of anyone finding out. It was usually Collins going into Farrier’s room and tonight was no different, his bed was bigger, he had more heaters, the only problem was that an officer was more likely to knock on his door than Collins’, since he was in charge of more. Still, that was yet to happen.

“Was Canfield hanging around you more than usual today?” Farrier asked quite soon after the blonde had settled in his bed. The brunette was reading, an unusual task for him and thankfully in Collins’ mind, he wasn’t reading something stupid like an engine manual. It was a novel, even more surprisingly.

“Uh, yeah he was. Not sure why,” Collins said, slowly prying the book from Farrier’s fingers to look at what it was.

“ _Wind, Sand and Stars._ Very ambiguous fantastical sounding book, especially for you,” Collins jested.

“For me? What’s that mean?” Farrier laughed, taking the book back.

“You don’t read. I know that, Farrier. What’s this about then?” the blonde asked, trying to read the words on the page and failing as Farrier put the bookmark back inside it, which Collins noted was a folded up flight logbook sheet.

“It’s about a French pioneering pilot.”

“Ah, there we go. It’s about a pilot,” Collins smirked.

“Well yeah! It’s… Relatable, I guess,” Farrier defended. Collins sighed, it was good Farrier had found something to read that he did actually enjoy. The blonde could tell Canfield’s bird book didn’t really do much for the man.

“Can I read it after you?” he asked. Farrier smiled a big smile.

“Of course you can, pet. I’d like that, actually. Can’t promise you’ll get it any time soon though,” the man chuckled.

“I’ll wait,” Collins said back quietly over the rain.

Farrier’s hand wandered onto his, and held it. The man's hand was warm in his cold one, and it grounded him. Such small acts, touches reminded Collins that he was okay, he was awake and alive and present. He only had a faint idea that it meant just as much to Farrier too.

The next morning, Collins was asked if he would like two full days of leave.

“I uh, sure! I’ll happily take leave for a couple of days. But… Why did you ask me first?”

Canfield exhaled and pursed his lips.

“You look weary, Collins.”

He meant it in more ways than the circles under the blonde’s eyes.

“That, and I’m not just asking you, I’m asking your whole flight. We’re doing it this way, see how it goes. That way in most scenarios you should at least be able to keep in the same formation within your flight as you were before.”

Collins really did wonder why Canfield sometimes worded things the way he did, first making it seem like he’d sought out Collins specifically and then letting out that he’d actually asked everyone in A flight.

“You sleeping well?” he asked. Collins was taken aback by the question, he didn’t realise anyone besides Farrier cared. Now he realised why he had been told separately about leave. Canfield was worried.

“Well enough, I suppose.”

“What’s keeping you up?”

“The suspense.”

After another short pause, Canfield reiterated that Collins should benefit from two days’ leave, and that if he can, he should spend them off base, and get out of the headspace of a pilot for that time. Collins wasn’t sure he’d be able to do that, but for Canfield’s peace of mind, he said he would try. It was only after leaving the office that he realised leaving the airbase for leave meant not seeing Farrier all day every day. He felt a tight feeling well up in his stomach, and immediately wished he hadn’t said yes to leave, not that he’d really been given a choice. He needed to find Farrier and talk about it, but it was early morning, and he was meant to go on leave today, now. Canfield sometimes had absolutely no planning process. Collins was borderline annoyed at the fact that Canfield had every opportunity to tell him _before_ the day he intended to start the rotations but hadn’t.

He walked upstairs and realised he also owned a dog. Would Parker be alright here? Surely the other men would look after him, it was only two days. Collins passed Dawson’s old room and made a conscious effort not to look at the door at all. Maybe one day he’d be comfortable doing that, but not yet. He reached Farrier’s room and the door was firmly closed. Farrier usually left his door open a fraction when he wasn’t inside to illustrate as such, it was the only time Collins could think that the man didn’t close a door when he left a room. The blonde knocked, and heard a quiet yawn from the other side. He decided to wait across the hall by the windows in case someone decided to walk past.

“Sortie?” Farrier yelled from behind the door. _Shite_ , Collins thought. He should probably answer that to stop the man hurriedly getting ready for nothing. Was it possible to yell quietly? He didn’t think so, and he had a better idea. Checking the coast was clear Collins quickly opened the door and shut himself inside Farrier’s room with him. Farrier looked at him with surprise, the man was only in underwear and one sock.

“Good morning pet,” he smiled, voice sounding slightly worked up from likely jumping straight out of bed thinking he was about to fly.

“Mm, morning,” Collins blushed.

“What did you want?” Farrier asked and continued to dress, slower now upon knowing he wasn’t being roused for a sortie.

“Well, Canfield told me my section has two days’ leave starting today…” the blonde murmured. He felt guilty in a way.

“Oh, well that’s good! Use them wisely, they’ll be gone before you know it, love,” Farrier smiled.

“I take you’re going off base,” he added a little less cheerfully. Collins nodded slightly as Farrier got into a singlet and then some trousers and his blue shirt. The man walked over to him and took his hands, which were clammy.

“It’s two days. You’ll be back before you know it,” he said in a soft murmur.

“I know, but I shouldn’t have said yes so quickly.”

“Don’t be silly pet, you have to take two days off in a week, you have to. And, knowing Canfield it wasn’t a question, was it now? Plus, you get this morning here because he told you last minute, don’t you?” Farrier smiled. He brought Collins’ knuckles up to his lips and kissed them softly, blue eyes still happy.

“I suppose. Tilly and Stella said I can stay in their house for leave, so I donnae need to go to the hotel,” Collins explained.

“Even better, they’re such lovely girls and I’m sure they’ll take good care of you,” Farrier said. He was happy for Collins, but there was a part that didn’t want him to leave.

“Not as good care as you take of me,” Collins said and pulled his hands away.

“You’re a sook when you want to be,” Farrier chuckled and pulled the blonde into a hug. Collins let his head rest on Farrier’s shoulder and they breathed each other in. It was a quiet moment, no footsteps could be heard and the light was beginning to peek through Farrier’s heavy curtains. Collins stepped back and got a piece of paper out of his pocket.

“This is their house telephone number,” he said. He’d scribbled it down when getting it from the pub, and figured Farrier might want to use it while he was on leave there.

“Is this so I can call you night and day to make sure you’re being mollycoddled?” Farrier smiled, and when Collins rolled his eyes the man leaned in and kissed him.

“Don’t worry pet, I’ll keep it safe, and keep it in mind.”

Collins touched his nose to Farrier’s, which was considerably warmer than his own.

“I love you,” the blonde said quietly.

“I love you too,” Farrier said quietly back. His hands massaged Collins’ shoulders as he held him there in front of him for a few moments before finally letting him go.

“I’ll see you on Monday,” Collins said, confirming it in his own mind as well as stating it to his partner.

“Yes, you will. Tell the girls I say hello, and stay out of trouble pet,” Farrier smiled.

Collins turned to leave, before asking one more thing.

“Will ye look after Parker while I’m gone?”

Farrier smiled his warm smile and tilted his head to the side the way he did when he thought an answer obvious,

“Of course I will, now go on, love.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading ❤️  
> [ my tumblr ](https://s-n-o-w-p-i-e-r-c-e-r.tumblr.com)  
> [ afternoon pinterest ](https://pinterest.com.au/snovvpiercer/afternoon)
> 
> Until next chapter ❤️


	22. Market Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Monday all, I hope everyone has a good week ahead of them!

Collins left the airbase to a fresh dewy morning. He’d packed a small suitcase and had changed out of his uniform, which almost felt strange to do. He walked the little streets of Gatwick away from the base without a look back over his shoulder, down past the house he’d found Parker outside, past the pub Stella performed at and through the windy residential roads until he arrived at the girls’ house. He knocked on the door, and suddenly realised how quiet everything around him was. Maybe it was too early, maybe they weren’t awake yet, he tended to forget that he roused early from military ritual.

Farrier sat back down on the bed thinking. The sun was just coming through the gap in his blackout blinds, making a bright strip over his floor and up the wall on the other side. He told himself he was being stupid for already feeling mopey about Collins getting leave and proceeded to continue dressing himself.

He loved that boy, and even though he was well aware that Tilly and Stella lived very close, Farrier wanted Collins at Gatwick with him. Selfish perhaps, he thought, but something he couldn’t change if he tried. Farrier wandered downstairs to make himself a cup of tea. He was beginning to realise that while coffee was good, and it sure woke him up faster, it didn’t quite hit the same homely spot that a cup of tea did. The ground floor was full of the usual chatter around the doorways and while waiting for his tea to steep, the man went in search of Parker. As expected, the dog was found in his bed in 107’s common room.

“Hey boy, want some food?” he asked, seeing that Parker was well awake but choosing to stay in his bed for the warmth. The word ‘food’ was more compelling however, and the dog’s ears pricked, and he stood up.

“Thought so,” Farrier chuckled.

Stella answered the door sleepily.

“Good morning,” she said with a slight hint of confusion in her voice.

“Eh morning, Stel. I uh, I was wondering if… Well, I’m on leave ye see, so…” Collins stammered, feeling a lot ruder asking this in person without even warning the girls first that he might be coming.

“Oh! We’ve got lots of empty beds, yes! Come and get warm,” she smiled, standing to the side. When Collins entered his nostrils were filled with the scent of freshly baked bread.

“Oh, hello there!” Tilly smiled from where she stood in the kitchen, her apron covered in flour.

“Good morning, I hope ye don’t mind me crashing here, I’m only on leave for today and tomorrow,” Collins said.

“Of course we don’t! Not like we get any other company these days. I’m heading off to the market in about an hour if you feel like joining,” the redhead said. Collins was then reminded that another source of income for the house was selling baked goods at a market in London.

“I mean… Yeah sure, if ye don’t mind.”

“Don’t be silly, it’ll be something to do, anyway!”

Collins was shown upstairs into a bedroom with an empty single bed, he assumed one of the band members who was currently fighting on the continent.

“It’s one of the warmer rooms,” Stella said as she showed Collins in.

“I really appreciate this, thanks Stella,” he said.

“It’s nothing, you’re a friend Jack, it’ll be fun!” she smiled.

The blonde was glad to see her in some sort of normal mental state after Dawson’s funeral.

It was the most of their house Collins had seen. It was, just as the outside, a beautiful old style house that had just fallen a little behind. There were tiny cracks in the walls, peeling paint in some places, but somehow it added to the feeling of homeliness that the blonde felt here. They even had an upstairs bathroom, something which Collins had never even known possible until seeing the officers’ ensuites in the Gatwick airbase. He supposed when one usually had about a dozen rent payers, it wasn’t all that difficult to live in a big nice house, even if it was a little run down.

Farrier had the engine cowling up on one of the Hurricanes before lunch time looking for something to do.

“That isn’t your job mate,” came one of the riggers,

“Ah yeah, I know, but I do know a thing or two,” Farrier said, taking his hands off the engine’s exhaust feeling like he’d intruded.

“If you say so officer, but I’m responsible if something happens,” the man laughed.

“Oh don’t worry, I wasn’t going to take the engine out or something, I was just poking around!” Farrier laughed.

It turned out the rigger’s name was Jordans, and he was Dawson’s rigger, now Corey’s. Farrier got to know him a bit more that morning, and was glad to because it seemed Jordans had been shocked when Dawson didn’t come back. Rightly so, of course, but except for Collins, Farrier hadn’t really seen firsthand any other men who were affected to such a degree. It wasn’t nice, but in a way it was important for Farrier to remember that not all of the men at Gatwick, nor anywhere for that matter were yet numbed to how it felt to see someone there one morning and not that very same afternoon. It was sobering, and a reminder that Collins wasn’t the only one who got along well with Dawson and had been affected.

As it turned out, Stella didn’t go to markets with Tilly, so Collins spent lunch sitting on a train with the redhead with several bags of fresh breads.

“Which market?” Collins asked as they rode into London.

“Borough. It’s the best for what we sell I think, and once you’ve been selling at one market for a while you start to get regulars, so you can rely on at least a base amount of money,” she smiled.

“Makes sense. Smells grand, maybe I’ll have to buy one,” Collins joked.

“Oh don’t be silly! There’s a loaf at home,” she said. It was something about the way she stopped smiling so suddenly at the end of the sentences tipped Collins off to the fact that there was something else on Tilly’s mind.

“What’s wrong?”

She sighed and looked out the window for a bit. She stood up to open it a little before sitting down to answer.

“Well, we think soon they’re going to start rationing everything. We won’t be able to cook proper things to sell at market if they do that. I keep saying ‘we’ as if I’m not the only one cooking now, but… I’m worried about it.”

It was a fair thing to be worried about.

“I hadnae thought about that. Well, I’m sure you’ll be able to come up with something, even if cooking turns to just selling ingredients, I’m sure you’ll work something out,” he smiled. Tilly smiled back, but it was a smaller one than usual.

“So how are you?” she asked, with a very specific tone in her voice.

“I’m uh… I’m alright, you?” he answered with a stammer, something the blonde didn’t know himself to do often.

“I’m okay, Stella’s holding up too. We’re keeping busy,” Tilly said.

The rest of the train ride was quiet, with a few soft conversations had between the two about this and that, asking about Parker, asking about the other band members, talking about the weather, of travel. As it turned out, the American friends Tilly had mentioned were musicians too who she’d met when they’d travelled over years ago to play, and kept in contact.

After what began as a telling off and ended in a laugh from Canfield about taking over the riggers’ jobs, Farrier finally came inside and made himself some lunch. He was glad every minute of not hearing anyone tell him to go flying. Just until Collins got back, he did not want to. What if he went off and something happened? His mind refused to even contemplate it as he sat with his tea in hand.

The market was fascinating. It was under cover, and there was even a train viaduct overhead. There were sights and smells galore, a lot of delicious looking food, and even more people. Collins was used to a much more relaxed market, one on grass which was spread out, one where the whole town of people who attended didn’t even seem to make the place as busy as this Borough Market looked now. Tilly had directed them to some little tables set up, and she’d got to putting some pretty white lace tablecloths on them and laying out her bread boxes.

“Now we sit and wait!” She said, motioning for Collins to sit down.

It was over much faster than the blonde imagined it would be, Tilly’s stall was very popular. There were people of all walks of life who came to buy the bread, though Collins began to notice that there were no young men around except him. They were all at war.

“Do ye notice what I am?” he leaned in and asked the redhead quietly.

“No men, yes.”

There did end up being one older man who came to buy a loaf of bread with his wife, long past serving age which explained it. Still, it was odd not to see an even mix. By mid afternoon they were sold out, and Tilly had a considerable amount of cash in her purse.

“All done! Now we can pack up and get back home,” she said.

“Hope it wasn’t too boring for you, blondie,” she added.

“No, wasn’t boring at all, quite interesting actually, thanks for inviting me along,” Collins replied. He had noticed throughout the day a lot of people looking at him strangely, but nobody had made any comments, so he considered that a plus. He knew why, out of uniform they would have wondered why he wasn’t off serving, when in fact, he _was_.

They went back on the train and it began to rain lightly.

“So what do you pilots do when you’re not flying?” she asked.

“Well, if we’re still on duty, we have tae sort of wait around in case we get called up at the moment. I hate it, you can’t quite relax, but you have to try. When I’m off duty, well, I draw I suppose.”

After lunch, Farrier brought his book down from his room to read in the common room. That way, he was more or less ready if he had to get into a plane but had something to distract himself with for a while.

“Glad you’re liking that one lad,” Canfield commented. He was the one who had given Farrier the book of course, deciding once and for all that information books on his own hobbies did not interest the other man.

“I am, it’s good to read about another pilot’s experiences, interesting.”

“That it is my boy, certainly a better pastime than some things too.”

As they carried their things back to the train, it began to rain.

“Oh goodness, my hair always goes so frizzy after it’s been rained on!” Tilly said quickening her pace.

“We’re nearly at the station, calm doon!” Collins laughed, putting the newspaper she’d asked him to pick up from a stall over her head. Just before they ducked into the train station Collins swore he saw a dark cloaked figure standing in the rain staring at them, the same one he saw in Gatwick once before. He looked at Tilly who seemed to be looking in the same direction, Collins gently touched her arm, motioning that they ought to get going, and inside they went. Not before Collins glanced over his shoulder again, but there was nobody of note there, just the swarm of people trying to get inside out of the wet.

Farrier was laying in bed with a cigarette hanging out of his mouth. He couldn’t read, he wanted Collins, and telling himself to stop being so ridiculous wasn’t working either. He couldn’t really go on a drive, it annoyed him that he’d been instructed to put covers on his head lights because of the blackout, there wasn’t much to do except try and pass the time. The man had a fleeting thought that he could go down to Stella’s house and actually see the blonde, but something stopped him. Deep down, he knew it would do the blonde well to have a break from military life, and as much as it pained him to think it, Farrier was irreversibly linked to that. He probably would have ended up in the RAF no matter what, the brunette thought. If not as a pilot, maybe as a fitter or rigger, or even an engineer. Farrier didn’t often dwell on what other careers he could have had, for in his eyes, fate had intervened and told him that he was to be a pilot. Instead, he tried to remember his favourite parts about being one. There sure wasn’t another job that gave one such a feeling as flying, seeing the earth shrink away, being free.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading! Tbh I thought this one was cute and also just makes me miss London.   
> [ my tumblr ](https://tumblr.com/s-n-o-w-p-i-e-r-c-e-r.tumblr.com)  
> [ afternoon pinboard ](https://pinterest.com.au/snovvpiercer/afternoon)
> 
> See you all for the next chapter. Until then, happy reading ❤️


	23. Christmas Shopping

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oops... It's Tuesday afternoon. At least I remembered!

The two days were passing slowly but quickly at the same time. A section from Farrier’s squadron was sent over, but not his own. It was strange not being the leader, watching the other men fly off but still feeling wholly responsible for anything that happened. There had been a scrap with two 109’s as it turned out, one of the planes barely limping back to base but making it. Selflessly perhaps, Farrier wished he had been in the air instead of Riley. If there was one thing Farrier was not, it was selfish. He would always rather be the one to fly into danger if it meant others could be safe. Perhaps the only thing he was selfish with was Collins.

“You don’t have to play it so fast! Slow down and you’ll stop getting all messed up!” Tilly said standing over Collins. They had a piano for band practice, and as soon as Tilly had gotten a proper look at the blonde’s slender fingers as he helped her prepare dinner, it was decided that the very next morning she was going to force him to play the piano. It didn’t take much forcing, Collins wasn’t opposed to instruments, he’d just never learnt one. Tilly had already taught him to read basic music, so that was a step, but getting his fingers to follow what the sheet said wasn’t so easy. He was trying to play some practice song called Ferris Wheel, not very well.

“How can ye do it so well?” Collins laughed,

“Practice, of course. Just because I sing in my band doesn’t mean I can’t do anything else! Don’t ask me to play something more complicated though,” Tilly smiled.

After half an hour more, Collins stood and left his attempt at being musical, much to Stella’s amusement.

“Did better than me,” she said wryly.

“Did I now.”

“Oh yes, I got frustrated in the first five minutes and just started stabbing the keys with my fingers,” she laughed.

Collins was beyond glad he’d somehow wound up with these two girls as friends, he’d be lost without them, he was beginning to realise. Collins was never one to have that many friends, and for the most part it never bothered him. He was glad to have friends as well who were separate to the military, in his head he thought that meant he could get close to them, there wasn’t some protocol over keeping distance. It was as he was having his second cup of tea for the morning as he sat in the lounge staring at the little Christmas tree in the corner that he realised he hadn’t done any shopping at all.

“Uh, ye think the stores would be open today?” he asked Tilly as she wandered in to open the blinds more than Stella had.

“Why wouldn’t they be?”

“Well, it’s Sunday,” the blonde said, confused as to why this was a question.

“I mean, maybe they’ll close earlier, but that doesn’t mean they don’t open at all!” she smiled.

“Oh. Back home nothing is really open on Sunday,” Collins explained, earning him a smile he assumed was the same one that Parker saw when Tilly smiled at him because he’d done something cute.

“What?!” Collins chuckled.

“I forget how different your upbringing was,” she said. It was true, Tilly tended to forget that not everyone had been living in or around London most of their lives.

“Do you need to do last minute Christmas shopping?” she asked.

“I may.”

“Well, if you want you can take grumpy pants with you, I don’t think she’s done hers either,” Tilly said motioning towards Stella in the adjacent room, earning a laugh from the blonde which had the dark haired girl looking over to see what the commotion was about.

“Are you talking about me?” she asked.

“No,” Collins lied,

“Yes we are, about how you’ve not done any Christmas shopping!” Tilly said.

“You don’t know that! Maybe I just haven’t put anything under the tree!” Stella said back.

Whatever the story was, she and Collins were out of the house by noon on the train into London.

“Who are ye shopping for?” Collins asked.

“Mum, Dad, Till, and someone else,” she said.

“Not worth me shopping for all the boys who aren’t here, is it. That isn’t rude, is it?” she added. Collins was about to respond and say that no, it wasn’t rude, but she had a point.

“Well, on the one hand, they aren’t here, might not be so special if nobody can open their presents on Christmas. Then again, they’d like it if they came home to something. Hmm, why don’t you just send them a parcel?” Collins asked as if it was obvious.

“Oh, I hadn’t really thought of that!”, Stella chirped, the happiest Collins had seen her all morning.

Shocking everyone including himself, Farrier had already done all of his Christmas shopping. He’d done it weeks ago, when he’d managed to slip away on a Friday night and take advantage of the late night shopping, even if it was considerably darker and harder to get to the actual shops. He’d found the binoculars Canfield had rambled about, some new dog toys for Parker, some sports equipment for his squadron, all of whom seemed absolutely devastated that they couldn’t play soccer in their downtime in the fields because there was no ball, and for Collins he’d gotten a camera. Farrier had never used a camera in his life, and he had found it very interesting to go into the store he knew sold cameras, one he’d never been in. The man had directed him to the Canon New Standard, apparently top of the line and a camera designed for the general population, rather than for reporters or journalists. The man had shown him how to use it, and though Farrier felt slightly stupid for being so clueless about everything in the shop, it was interesting nonetheless. Still, Farrier felt like he needed to give more. He wasn’t sure how he felt about Collins giving him his kilt pin, it still felt like it was too special, so Farrier was rummaging around his bedroom to see if he had any special trinkets. He wasn’t much of a trinket man, only really keeping things that were practical and useful, but he had hoped he’d come across something he could give the blonde. That, and he was trying not to sit looking like a sad dog in the front window waiting for Collins to get back from his leave. That was Parker’s job, who had already run around everywhere he could indoors looking for the blonde this morning. He was currently asleep downstairs, and though Farrier would genuinely have called Stella’s house number to tell Collins about it, he knew the man was coming back at some point in the day, so it was too late. Parker would have to wait for Collins patiently like the rest of them.

It was late afternoon by the time the two finished their shopping. Stella had managed to slip away and secretly snaffle a small present to give to Collins, even.

“I feel better now,” she said.

“Good, but I didn’t know you didn’t feel alright before,” Collins smiled as they walked to the train station with bags of items, Collins carrying most of Stella’s things for her parents, and also carrying what he’d found to give Farrier, and his own presents for the girls, rather one thing for both of them, or rather for their household, he told himself.

“Oh, thought it was obvious.”

“Not really,” Collins said. He knew Tilly thought she was in a mood, but Collins hadn’t picked up on it himself.

“Did something happen?” he asked.

“Uh, ye don’t have to answer that.”

“No it’s okay, it was just because Tilly was getting angry that I hadn’t bought Christmas presents yet, she thought it meant I wasn’t going to, that I didn’t care,” Stella explained.

“Ah,” the blonde replied. He hoped Tilly would be happy with everything Stella had found, a part of him knew she would be.

By the time they reached the house again, it had started to rain heavily and neither of them had any sort of protection from it, so it was a mad dash up the street with arms full of bags and a rapid knocking on the door because Stella had forgotten to take a house key until Tilly opened it with a surprised gasp as they both hurried past her into the warm room.

“Well then!” she laughed. Though there was no fireplace in the house, there were plenty of heaters lining the walls. The two draped their coats over one and Tilly got two blankets out from a chest before going to make some cups of tea.

“Dunno how I found you two but I’m grateful,” Collins murmured to Stella as they sat on the couch.

“In a way, it’s not all bad that you went to the pub that night,” Stella said quietly. Collins hadn’t thought about it that way before. 

“Everything happens for a reason, eh?” he asked.

“Oh, not at all. Some things happen for no reason, but a coincidence is that you met me the night you got your drink spiked.”

Collins was almost relieved she didn’t believe in fate, he thought she would actually. He wasn’t sure if he could take another Farrier moping about claiming he had no hand in anything.

“I agree,” he said warmly as Tilly came back with the tea.

Farrier looked out at the storm brewing in the sky. His attempts to draw himself away from the windows looking out onto the street had failed, and he now sat with Parker in the kitchen, watching the rain patter against the glass, hoping a certain man would walk through the gates beyond.

“He’ll be back soon boy,” he said to the dog, patting his head under the table. Farrier had ended up finding something of his own to give Collins, and though he wasn’t sure the man would find a use for it, it was still something of sentiment to Farrier.

As it turned out, Tilly believed in fate more than Stella and Collins,

“Well it sounds like you have a problem with it,” she said.

“No no, just donnae understand it,” Collins replied.

“Well… I know Stella has told you what… What we are to each other, hasn’t she?” Tilly asked cautiously, Collins nodded.

“I don’t feel like I should believe in God, now do I? I doubt he would let me into Heaven all things considered.”

“Well I agree with you on that,” Collins smiled. She had a point there.

“I guess that makes two people I know who believe in fate then,” he added.

“And who’s the other?” Tilly asked.

“Farrier, my b…” Collins stopped, red faced, almost completely unaware that he had been about to say that. Stella already knew, and Collins didn’t know if she’d relayed the information to Tilly, but considering he knew about them, maybe it was only fair.

“Boyfriend.”

Tilly’s eyebrows lifted up, she clearly had not been clued in.

“As in the officer?”

“Mm,” Collins mumbled embarrassedly.

“Oh! Well you kept that well hidden, didn’t you,” Tilly remarked. Collins was grateful she thought this, that the lie worked.

“Glad you think so,” he said.

“Well he seemed like such a nice man, Farrier. I’m sure it’s just wonderful!”

“Heh. Yeah. And well, since now you both know about us, and I know about you two, we don’t have to talk about it.”

Tilly was surprised by his words. She lived in a house full of revolutionaries, abstract thinkers, rejectors of societal norms, and communists to name a few. Those sorts of people had to find their own, or pretend they didn’t exist. So to Tilly it was almost odd to see a gay man so worried about even speaking about his partner.

“He’s not used to it Till,” Stella murmured, taking her hand.

“Sorry. It’s just my whole life I was told this is wrong,” Collins tried to explain.

“I understand, it’s okay! I would never make someone talk about something they didn’t want to Jack, I just found it curious. A lot of our roommates just don’t care about that sort of thing, you see,” Tilly said.

“Well, I’m glad of that. It seems like quite a safe house for you two to be… You in.”

He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t jealous of them. Talking about all this had Collins missing Farrier, and that was when he realised how dark it had gotten and checked his watch.

“Oh! Well I need tae um, get back to the airbase tonight so I might start packing,” he said, excusing himself.

As he was upstairs, the girls moved a little closer on the couch for warmth.

“I’m glad he’s comfortable staying here,” Tilly said. 

“Mm. God knows he shouldn’t have to pay for accommodation in the hotel,” Stella responded.

“I hope he’s doing alright. He didn’t seem to want to talk about much when we had a chat last night,” the brunette added.

“I hope so too. They train them not to think about it, it’s probably him trying to follow that,” Tilly reminded Stella, who hummed in agreement.

“Are you doing alright?” Tilly asked quietly. Stella made a little noise of contemplation in the back of her throat, and then nodded. She always gave answers like that, sometimes it frustrated the redhead but tonight it just relieved her. It was when Stella beamed and said things like “I’m excellent” that there was more cause for worry.

Farrier was tapping his fingers against the table as the other airmen swarmed around him trying to make their dinners. He ended up leaving the kitchen because he was extremely aware that he was in the way of everyone. Not wanting to wait awkwardly in the empty hall, nor in Canfield’s or his own office, Farrier resigned himself to going back upstairs, maybe he’d try to do some reading to distract himself again.

With one hand holding his bag of shopping and the other holding his suitcase, Collins tried to open the front door of Gatwick with the one holding his suitcase, not thinking to just simply put it down. He ended up dropping it and cursing, and soon after the door was opened for him by Turner.

“Evening matey, look like you could use a hand or two,” he joked.

“Evening Turner, good tae see ye. When’d you get in?”

“1600 hours, was getting bored at the hotel, thought why not just go back to the base, you know?” he said as the blonde walked inside out of the cold.

“Yeah, and Corey back from his leave too?”

“Aye, he came in with me, the hotel just around the corner gives discounts to the armed forces, so we both stayed there. Not bad place, even better room service, if you catch my drift laddie,” Turner laughed.

Eventually Collins made it upstairs past the swarm of men, to his room. Though the bed in Stella and Tilly’s house was comfortable, it wasn’t _his,_ and the blonde was grateful to get back to his own room. The door opened behind him, and he shouldn’t have been surprised to see Farrier standing there. The door was closed behind the man and as Collins went for his usual quip of “Afterno-“, he was cut off by Farrier’s lips on his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading, hope you enjoyed this chapter.  
> [ my tumblr ](https://s-n-o-w-p-i-e-r-c-e-r.tumblr.com)  
> [ afternoon pinboard ](https://pinterest.com.au/snovvpiercer/afternoon)
> 
> Until next chapter ❤️


	24. A Wartime Celebration

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So uhhhhh apparently I was meant to put this up last monday.... yeah. sorry about that, I thought last week was my off week oops plus I wouldn't have been able to anyway because I was driving a car back from a neighbouring state (my dream car!!)
> 
> Anyway I am not dead yes I am still uploading I'm just dumb x

It was Christmas morning. Everyone had been treating it differently, some were trying to ignore the fact that there was a war on and enjoy Christmas, and others were trying not to let Christmas be what let their guard down, and felt like they still needed to be ready to be sent off somewhere. The tree had managed to stay up, considering Parker’s insistent biting of the baubles which in the end, meant that the bottom branches of the trees weren’t really decorated at all. The odd thing was that there weren’t presents under the tree for everyone. The leaders had put some there, but the men as a whole seemed to have realised that buying things for the whole squadron would end up costing more than they might want to be spending. Canfield got his binoculars, Farrier got a chess board, Davis got a bottle of expensive wine. The heaters were on, Christmas carols were playing softly and the radio was on with the BBC Christmas broadcast. Somehow to Collins, this year’s Christmas away from home was more festive than last, even though last year it was held in peacetime.

“Well, I trust you’re all going to enjoy this as much as you can. We may be on call, but I doubt they’d send us over on Christmas, it’s a sort of courtesy, isn’t it?” Canfield said. The ladies who worked down in the radar room had even come into work just to hang about, the men rarely saw them nowadays even though those who trained at Gatwick had come to know some of them very well as the kitchen staff.

“Absolutely, and I hope you all get better use out of the football than the dog!” Farrier added of his gift to all the boys, seeing Parker begin to chew on it on the floor. By mid-morning, the boys were indeed getting more use out of it than the dog. They were out in the cold running around playing football, using bits and pieces as goals, squadron against squadron, or most of the squadrons, save for the less sporty individuals who sat out and ‘ruined Christmas’ jestingly according to Keith. Said individuals included Collins, Corey, Canfield, Farrier, Green and Reed. Parker was more than making up for any lost players on either side, running circles around the men.

“He’s sure loving it,” Farrier said as he dug for his box of cigarettes in his pocket.

“Indeed, Wingnut would’ve loved it too,” Collins commented. Timson had played football for a club before joining the RAF, the blonde wondered if his bomber base had any sort of activities like this to let Wingnut’s energy out. He prayed for Lucy if there weren’t any, the man was like a dog that needed walking every day.

“I mean, we’re behind in not having anything to do here, he probably has a few footballs at Wattisham already,” Davis said.

“Mm, yes. Well, I’m going to go and try out my binoculars!” Canfield said, darting inside.

“Bring ‘em back here, I want to try,” Farrier said causing the older man to laugh.

He did bring the binoculars back, and everyone who had sat out the soccer game got to try them out.

“These would be useful in the air,” Farrier said.

“They would, if you didn’t need both hands on the controls,” Canfield smiled, taking them back.

As expected, no sorties were declared as the day went on. The men were able to enjoy a lovely Christmas lunch put on by the ladies and it was brought out to the tables which had been set up on the asphalt outside near the runways. The day was clear, though cold, and everyone was having a good a time as they could, really.

By late afternoon, Collins thought it high time to phone his parents. Walking out to the phone box across the road from the airbase, he saw the same cloaked figure he’d been seeing.

“Hey!” he shouted, and he wasn’t sure if it was madness or adrenaline, or both that made him run after the figure. He’d seen it three times now, once around Gatwick town and once after going to market with Tilly in central London. He was becoming paranoid that someone was following him. Maybe it was a spy. He ran down the street after the figure, which darted behind a corner, but as the blonde reached the corner and looked down the road, he saw nothing.

“I know yer there!” he yelled, before realising he really did sound like he was going insane. The street was empty. It was then that he decided he needed to talk to Tilly about it, since she seemed to have seen the person before when Collins had tried to confront her about it outside the train station.

He went back to the phone box feeling defeated and stupid, and called the number of his house in Aviemore.

“Hello?” his father answered.

“Merry Christmas, Da,” Collins smiled.

“Jack! Merry Christmas son! How’ve you been?” he asked immediately.

“Uh, well yeah, I’ve been alright, more importantly how have you and Ma been?” the blonde asked, choosing not to talk much on how he was coping with loss.

“We’ve been keeping well lad, keeping well,” his dad said, Collins could hear the smile through the phone. His mum was put on after a while, and after talking to them both, he hung up feeling quite a lot better.

By evening, clouds had finally rolled in, though it was nice to have almost a whole day without them in the middle of winter. He shouldn’t have, but Collins thought maybe it meant Dawson was there. In the big blue, looking down. He told himself not to believe in things like that, because how many more Dawsons were there going to be before this messy business was over?

“Well when are you going to give it to him?” Tilly asked Stella as they sat in front of the Christmas tree. Stella had bought Collins something she wasn’t sure if he’d like, but something she thought suited him. It was a little ornate wood carving she’d found in a market of two bluebirds on a branch, the sort of thing one would put on their dressing table. It was painted too, and was strikingly realistic.

“I suppose when he comes over next,” she replied. 

“Don’t you think we should be more… Urgent?” Tilly asked, causing Stella to pout, but the dark haired woman did know why she had said it, and she was right. The two had spent most of the morning lounging around in bed, until finally near lunch time had gone downstairs to unwrap their presents and then proceed to sit on the balcony together.

“Well how about tomorrow then? We could call the base ahead to see if he can come to the door even,” Tilly suggested, earning a nod.

“Evening,” Farrier smiled, quietly letting himself into Collins’ room that night.

“Evenin’ yourself. Merry Christmas,” Collins smiled.

“Merry Christmas, pet,” Farrier said warmly, obviously holding something behind his back.

“Go on then, what’ve ye got?” the blonde said humorously.

“Well, I was hoping you’d come on a drive with me,” Farrier said.

“Headlights?”

“Have been darkened as of today. Special tint you can buy now, makes them very dim, dimmer than the useless candles of streetlamps,” Farrier said.

“Mm, alright then. Let me get my coat,” Collins said, also planning on grabbing what he’d found for Farrier’s Christmas present. The thought occurred to him to tell him about the strange person he kept seeing, but somehow he didn’t think it was important.

Farrier left the blonde to his own devices after mumbling something about waiting in the car, and how he liked Collins wearing coats. He hadn’t read much of his book lately, but Farrier put it down to the fact that he’d been too busy, but in reality, he could only read it in small sections. Relatable though it was, some parts were all too relatable, and the man didn’t want to read large chunks of story detailing similar events to those he’d lived through. Still, he was enjoying it. He went down and unlocked his car, sitting down in the driver’s seat waiting for Collins, who would no doubt be out in a few minutes as not to raise suspicion.

Said blonde surprised Farrier by walking from around the back of the building, having exited through the back door instead. He was holding a box in his hands and Farrier smirked and shook his head, he didn’t have to buy anything.

“Thought using the back door was a good idea,” Collins said as he got in the car, and after Farrier made some dirty joke, they drove off.

“So what did ye get me?” Collins asked, half expecting Farrier to blatantly answer, considering he wasn’t much for ceremony. However, the man didn’t, he just smiled and kept driving.

“You better not have spent a lot of money on it,” Collins said worriedly, half because he hadn’t spent a huge amount on Farrier’s gift.

“Just relax, will you?” Farrier said softly, eyes moving from the road to meet the blonde’s for a second. They drove up to the lookout on top of the hill that Collins, Dawson and Timson had once jogged to. They’d been there a few times now, but tonight the view was very different. No longer could the flickering lights of London be seen in the distance, tonight all was dark, save for the excessively dimmed streetlamps which weak enough that only the ones closest to them on the street were visible at all.

“Merry Christmas love,” Farrier said, turning the car off. He reached behind him onto the back seat and grabbed the box, handing it to Collins.

“Merry Christmas to you too, love,” Collins said back, handing over his present to Farrier. He wasn’t usually the one to use pet names, and hearing him call Farrier ‘love’ gave the brunette a tingling feeling in his gut. They unwrapped them at the same time. Inside the box he’d been given, Farrier saw another book, along with an electric shaver.

“Pet, you didn’t need to spend this kind of money!” Farrier said, looking at the brand of the shaver. As he got the book out, he realised it wasn’t a book at all, rather it was a Lifesavers Sweet Storybook, a new packaging gimmick they’d come out with, which Farrier thought was rather interesting actually, plus it was full of sweets, so he couldn’t complain.

“But thank you,” he added, looking up at Collins.

“Is this a camera?!” he almost yelled, Farrier laughed.

“Yeah!”

“Shite, Farrier this was too much money!” Collins said,

“Collins, I love you. I want to give this to you, alright? I thought you would make good use of it,” Farrier said.

“And uh, there’s something else in there that you’ll find far less useful,” he said, reaching over and lifting some of the tissue paper out of the box to reveal his old lighter, one he used during WW1 and had been using until Canfield had bought him the new one.

“Oh! Even if I donnae smoke much, I still like it. It’s yours, reminds me of you,” Collins smiled. He’d seen Farrier use this thing many times, seen it on his bedside table, in his pockets, lying on his office desk.

“I feel like my gifts fall short,” the blonde said.

“No no no. They don’t, at all. It’s been too long since I’ve treated myself to something sweet, come to think of it I never do anymore, and an electric shaver is the sort of thing that I wouldn’t have bought for myself, but have wanted every time I see them in shops,” he explained.

“Well, yer welcome. And… Thank you for these,” Collins replied, looking at the camera and the lighter. He was very excited to use the camera, to take photos of things, people, nature, everything. A new way to make memories.

The next day, Tilly called RAF Gatwick.

“RAF Gatwick this is Wing Commander Canfield.”

“Uh, good morning Wing Commander Canfield, my name is Tilly. I’m a friend of one of the pilots, Jack Collins. I was just wondering if I might be able to visit today,” she said, suddenly feeling quite improper.

“Yes, you most definitely can visit. We will need to ask a few questions at the door and give you a badge, all that. Can’t be too careful, you understand,” Canfield said.

“Of course, yes, I understand. Do I need to make an appointment? I was hoping to bring another friend with me.”

“No appointment necessary, dear. Just be aware that as an active airbase, we may be sending men over in the air at any time during the day.”

“Yes, thank you Wing Commander. I’ll see you then!” she said nervously, Canfield said goodbye and hung up the phone, getting up in search of Collins to go and tell of his visitors, while Tilly went to tell Stella about the news.

“Collins? Canfield asked, poking his head into 102’s common room to see that Collins was, for once in his life, the centre of attention. He was holding a brand new camera.

“Oh goodness boy, where’d you get that?” he asked excitedly.

“Ah, present from my parents,” the blonde lied.

“Very good! Well I am advising you that a friend, well two I believe, wish to visit you today. We can allow civilians into the airbase after giving them background checks, so I said it was fine,” Canfield explained.

“Oh, that’s good. Who?”

“A young lady called Tilly, and her friend,” Canfield said, chuckling at the chorus of wolf whistles which erupted around the room.

“Uh, yeah that’s fine. Did she say when?” Collins asked, feeling his cheeks go red.

“No, but I’ll come and find you, don’t you worry my boy,” he said, winking as he left the room.

“Better put that camera to good use then,” Reed joked.

The two girls wandered up before lunch, giving Collins a good amount of time to get to know his way around the camera. It wasn’t too complicated if one read the instructions, and soon he had taken a photo of Parker, of the building, and of Turner and Finn. The two girls were indeed background checked, although at Tilly’s request it was done by one of the female staff members who usually worked in the radar room. They were asked to remove coats, to recite personal information such as addresses and occupations, and finally given their visitor badges and allowed entry into Gatwick. It was very different to the last time they’d come in, when there was no formal protocol. Canfield dipped back into the common room to tell Collins, so being sure to take his camera with instead of leaving it in the hands of his wingmen to use up all the film, he went to see them waiting in the hall inside the front door for him.

“Merry late Christmas, you two,” he smiled.

“Merry late Christmas, Jack,” Stella said, she smiled with a closed mouth as she handed him something wrapped in newspaper, an odd shape that he couldn’t place.

“Well, I have somethin’ for you two as well, would you like to come and get it?” he asked, heading upstairs with them. It was amusing to think how easy it would have been to sneak a lass into the base and head upstairs with her for a suspicious amount of time, he thought to himself as they walked up the stairs.

“How’s Parker?” Tilly asked.

“Naughty, energetic, the usual,” Collins replied. He took the girls upstairs for the first time, and once inside his room, gave them what he’d found. A small mirror with a stand.

“Noticed yours was broken, bad luck to have a broken mirror,” he said. Collins hadn’t had time to wrap it, but Tilly seemed overjoyed, so he gathered it didn’t matter much.

“Perfect! Thank you!” she said with bright eyes.

“She does her makeup with it,” Stella smirked as she handed over Collins’ gift to him, which he carefully unwrapped to discover what it was.

“You don’t have to like it,” Stella said before he had time to say anything.

“Actually I do like it, a lot. It’s very detailed,” Collins said, studying it.

“Whoever had painted it must have a steady hand, and a tiny brush,” he commented quietly.

“Just thought bluebirds, you’re a bluebird, and um… Well… Tilly sang about bluebirds at, you know,” Stella said. Once Collins put it all together, the ornate carving had so much more weight. He set it down carefully on his dressing table, where he could see it from his bed.

“It’s beautiful,” he said.

“Glad you like it, it’s from both of us,” Stella said.

The three walked back downstairs chatting, whilst trying to avoid the prying eyes of several other airmen.

“Before you two go, I’ve been seeing this person around. Tilly, when we went to the market they were outside the train station. Are they dangerous?” Collins asked quietly as they stood in the front doorway. Stella looked incredulously at Tilly, who clearly hadn’t told her anything about this person. The redhead took a breath before answering.

“She’s fine. I’ve seen her around Gatwick, I think she lives here,” Tilly explained.

“Why did we see her in central London then?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never spoken to her, I’ve only seen her face once when the wind blew her hood off, she seems normal but just a bit strange, probably best to leave it,” Tilly said. With those mildly comforting words, Collins decided maybe she was right. The world was full of interesting people.

“Alright then. Well, I hope you two had a nice Christmas, and if I donnae see you before, then have a good New Year,” the blonde said with a smile.

“All the same to you, blondie,” Tilly said.

“Yes, take care of yourself, won’t you,” Stella added quietly.

“Will do,” Collins said, and bid them goodbye.

He went back to the common room with the exciting revelation that he could now take photos of Farrier.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope everyone liked this one! It is not proofread because I'm in the middle of crunch time @ uni so I sort of just had to whack this up and hope for the best. Cannot wait till term is over so I can finally start writing properly, I have barely written for months. How often do you write?
> 
> [ my tumblr ](https://s-n-o-w-p-i-e-r-c-e-r.tumblr.com)   
>  [ afternoon pinboard ](https://pinterest.com.au/snovvpiercer/afternoon)
> 
> Until next chapter everyone ❤️


	25. Countdown to 1940

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy monday folks!! Yes I remembered this time! Here's an extra long chapter hehe (get in a party mood!)

It was the last day of 1939. There were whispers about the base of a New Year’s party. They weren’t night fliers, so what was the damage? The men were joking about how it was Sunday, they’d gone to church in the morning but were going to be completely drunk by the end of the day.

“I’m no’ drinking,” Collins said.

“C’mon, don’t say that! You have to!” Turner pushed.

“Okay let me rephrase. I’m not getting drunk,” Collins smiled.

“Why ever not?”

“Turner, I can’t imagine flying would be particularly easy with a hangover, can ye?” Collins asked, earning a laugh from the man.

“Alright then, you’ve got a point, guess I’ll just hope our section doesn’t go up tomorrow then!” he laughed.

“Don’t think you’re getting out of this,” Farrier smirked to Canfield as they were stood outside watching the ground crew scratch their heads at engine troubles on one of the Hurricanes.

“Don’t think you’ll be able to keep me here, more like!” Canfield laughed. It had been too long since he’d been out and about, and he feared he’d go mad if he didn’t.

“Fair enough. Will you wear your uniform?” Farrier asked, taking out a cigarette.

“I don’t think so, I’ve no doubts some of the young men will, but I don’t need the extra attention,” the man said.

“Couldn’t agree more.”

“So have they told you where they all plan to go?” Canfield asked, reaching for a cigarette of his own.

“Heard two completely different stories, I’ll have to find out if the group is splitting or if someone just doesn’t know what’s going on. Probably the latter, considering one of the people I asked was Micks,” Farrier laughed. He was secretly looking forwards to going out more than he would admit, maybe he could convince himself he wasn’t becoming old if he went out and enjoyed himself. It had been a while, the last time he could remember was when he went to see Stella perform and got to know her and Tilly a bit more. Back when Dawson was still with them. Considering everything Farrier had heard from other bases, Gatwick was actually doing well. About one death a month seemed to be what was happening everywhere, and Gatwick hadn’t had any since September. It had been better than when World War One had begun, as they were calling it now. A lot of the squadrons were made up of men with varying degrees of experience, and as a result the losses were very high at the start. He went to go and find a more reliable source of party information, Finn.

Farrier found him in 107’s common room. He was coming to quite enjoy Finn’s company, he was so energetic it made Farrier feel more alive. He was an excellent flier as well, and Farrier thought he’d do well moved up in his formation.

“Finn! Just who I was looking for,” he smiled.

“Thought you’d be off looking for pasties with Keith,” Finn joked.

“Already did that actually,” Farrier laughed. He had made good friends with his wingmate, but even though they occasionally went to get lunch from the shops together, it didn’t mean Farrier hadn’t listened to his own advice about getting close. Collins was still the only exception to that. And Canfield, but that was a special case.

“I was wondering if there’s any word on where everyone’s going tonight? Canfield and I are thinking of tagging along, you know,” he said.

“Ah yeah. To keep an eye on us all?”

“Not really, just to have a good time.”

“Oh! Good to hear, man. Well, I don’t think we know yet. Some of the lads were thinking Golden Deer, but that’s small, so maybe something in London proper,” he explained.

“Right then. Well, keep me posted, yeah?”

“Will do,” Finn smiled.

“Now, you know you’re getting leave tomorrow like we said?” Canfield asked. Farrier had been told, a few days ago, but refused.

“I don’t need leave! I can fill in for another pilot or make myself useful here Canfield, I really don’t need time off.”

“Tom, every working man takes time off, who works seven days a week?!”

“Me.”

“Farrier, don’t be ridiculous. And don’t make me order you to take leave either,” Canfield said. Farrier hated it when he pulled rank, reminded him of his place.

“It’s only two days, just go stay in the hotel like the rest of the lads have been, you’ll be back before you know it, lad,” Canfield said in a kinder tone. Farrier sighed, indicating that he was relenting.

“One other thing,” the other man said.

“Mm?”

“Well, as you and Davis keep me posted on all your pilots and such, I come to learn about their traits, all that.”

“Where’s this going?”

“I’m getting there! Well, the way Davis has been describing young Collins’ flying lately has me thinking,” he said. Farrier crossed his arms and raised his eyebrows waiting for an answer,

“Thinking about what?”

“Davis says his style is becoming quite… Well, the words he actually used were “he’s started bloody flying like Farrier,” Canfield laughed, Farrier did not.

“What on earth does that mean?” he asked, was it meant to be an insult?

“I’ve heard of it happening at other bases. Some pilots well… I suppose you could say that Hurricanes are a bit more sluggish than Spits, yes?”

“….I guess?”

“Well some pilots feel like their style is better suited to a plane that handles differently.”

“How do I fly though?”

“Oh. Not to worry about that, lad. Perhaps Hurricanes aren’t for Collins any longer though.”

“Oh. You want him to move squads?” Farrier asked. He wouldn’t have expected Collins to be the one to be singled out for this, but then again he’d never really gotten much opportunity to see Collins’ developed flying style in Hurries.

“I think in the future, perhaps it’s an option. Of course he has to agree, and there needs to be space in another squadron, but it’s something I’m thinking about,” Canfield said. The conversation on it ended there, but Farrier hoped Canfield wasn’t implying he’d move bases. Farrier didn’t particularly like the idea that Collins might join his own squadron either, though. He wished the blonde would just stay in his Hurricane squadron forever. What on earth did Davis mean ‘bloody flying like Farrier’? The man was going to find out.

Collins managed to secure a lunch slip, and yet again he used it to go and see Tilly and Stella, but not before calling RAF Wattisham.

“RAF Wattisham this is Wing Commander Frederickson.”

“Wing Commander Frederickson this is Flying Officer Collins from RAF Gatwick,” the blonde said, hoping he’d remembered how to say it.

“Good day Flying Officer, how can I help?”

“I was actually hoping I might speak to a friend I have based at Wattisham. William Timson?”

“I think all our men are on the ground, if you would please hold I can find out.”

As expected, Wingnut was around, and who was he to say no to a New Year’s party? There was one going on with his Bomber Command friends, but somehow he just felt like he should celebrate with his old mate Collins. He still hadn’t gotten as close to his bomber friends as he had Collins. It did mean that he had to last minute fill out a leave slip for the night and subsequent morning, but since there were others around to take his place, it didn’t seem to matter much. Collins found it interesting that now, Timson was technically more qualified a pilot than he was, the brunette had his Instrument Flight Rating, meaning he could fly at night whereas Collins could not. Soon after the blonde hung up the phone from a very excited Timson who essentially had to get on the train immediately, not that it sounded like a problem to him, he set out to do what he actually planned to do with his lunch slip; invite the girls.

“Yes!” Tilly said immediately before Stella had even made it to the door properly.

“Yes to what?” The brunette asked.

“New Year’s party tonight with the fighter boys!” she said,

“Oh, well, yeah why not?” Stella said sleepily even though it was midday.

“Where? When?” the redhead asked. 

“Yet to be determined. Maybe keep yer ears out for the telephone. Hold on, why aren’t either of ye performing somewhere?” Collins asked.

“Crowds’ gone dry,” Stella said.

“Oh, sorry.”

“What she means to say is, you know most of the population are a bit too busy to come to small shows like what we do, they’re all too busy seeing Vera Lynn and the big shots,” Tilly smiled sadly.

“Yeah, it must be difficult for you two. But you’ve got your market money, and I’m sure yer lookin’ for war jobs aren’t you?” Collins asked. The girls both nodded uncomfortably, it went completely over Collins’ head that perhaps they weren’t looking for wartime jobs at all and were instead trying to avoid them. Nonetheless, they agreed to listen out for the telephone and be ready to go in the evening, wherever it would take them. Collins went back from his ‘lunch’ break and made himself actual lunch on the base.

“How exciting it’ll be, won’t it! To rub shoulders with all the fighter boys, oh my!” Tilly gushed as she began to pull all of her clothes out from the wardrobe,

“Guess so,” Stella said, though Tilly judged by her expression that the brunette was excited too, even if she didn’t want to say it.

Evening came around, and Wingnut arrived on base not a moment too soon with Lucy at his side, a miracle they were both able to get leave, but Lucy’s managers had decided since she didn’t have her IFR, there was no point not letting her go out at night. Wingnut was in full party attire, including cufflinks and colourful ties, both joint gifts from Dawson and Collins during his Gatwick training, and he looked very colourful next to Lucy who was in a plain but very stylish dress. He knocked on the door, and Canfield answered.

“Hello you!” Wingnut said loudly with a beam, walking inside before Canfield could answer, Lucy smiling apologetically.

“What are you doing here lad?” he laughed as Wingnut wandered off down the hall, the old man making note of his colourful mismatched socks peeking out from his slightly short trousers.

“Good to see you again, Officer Canfield,” Lucy smiled.

“And you, Lucy!” Canfield smiled back, closing the door and noticing the sweetheart brooch she had pinned to her dress.

“Party tonight! You thought you could hide it from me?” Wingnut laughed.

“Not at all lad, but you might need a visitor’s-“

“Canfield, c’mon. Surely I’m some ‘friend of the base’ or something? I did train here, you know I’m not a spy in disguise coming to find out secret information,” he said. The old man chuckled and relented.   
“Aren’t even any secrets here for anyone to find out,” he agreed.

Collins was sat in the common room in his civvies feeling rather uncomfortable in them, a strange feeling. He was in his old trousers and a button up with slacks and a woollen blazer over the top, and the same big overcoat that he’d wrapped Parker up in all that time ago. It was exactly what he always used to wear before uniform became his normal attire, and it felt strange.

“Hello stranger,” called a familiar voice from the door. Wingnut strode towards Collins before the blonde could register that he hadn’t arrived alone, and the two men embraced tightly with smiles on their faces. There was a moment of acknowledgement there. That it was just the two of them now.

“And uh, hello everyone else, most of you which I don’t have a clue who you are,” Wingnut said.

“This is Wingnut, we trained together here before Gatwick became an operational base,” Collins explained. After introducing himself to everyone he didn’t know, Wingnut got to playing around with Parker, who was ecstatic to meet someone who didn’t seem to tire of his antics.

“Finally, someone tae match yer energy!” Collins laughed.

“I know! I might just take him back to Wattisham if you aren’t careful” Timson replied gleefully.

“Hello again Collins,” Lucy said, finally entering the room after chatting to Canfield and letting her partner get out his silly energy.

“Lucy! Glad ye could make it!” the blonde smiled.

“Me too. I’m so sorry to hear about your loss, Collins.”

“….Thank you,” Collins said quietly, not prepared for someone to mention it.

It was eventually decided that going into London would be better, so Collins went out to the phone box when he could and let the girls know. They were going to meet the main group outside the airbase and travel in together.

Just as the sunlight was disappearing for good, Tilly and Stella were knocking at the front door as well as some others from around the town that other airmen had apparently befriended from nights at the bar.

“Want to take the car?” Farrier asked Canfield.

“Less of a target than a railway, so yes,” the older man replied.

“Well there are three more seats, we could take others,” Farrier said.

“Yes, well how about Davis, Keith and Alan?” Canfield suggested, thus the car would be filled with the highest ranking officers, and the wingmen of Farrier and Davis from their respective squadrons, who although they were Flying Officers like the rest of the men, they were the most competent flyers.

“Sure.”

“You don’t have a problem with that?” 

“Should I?”

“Oh, no. I just thought you’d have different preferences,” Canfield said. Farrier had some idea what he was implying, considering the old man still was under the impression that he was ‘vaguely attracted to’ Collins, as he’d put it recently.

“I don’t really care, plus I see your logic. I’ll go see if they want a ride in,” Farrier said, excusing himself, leaving Canfield with the keys to a very expensive car which the older man was looking at like it was a shiny new toy.

“You can’t drive that!”

“I can! But I won’t!” Canfield yelled back.

Finally, everyone began to depart. Farrier watched Collins wander off down the dark street in his casuals, along with who looked like Wingnut, not that he knew how he would have gotten here, and the rest of the large group as he got into his car with the men Canfield had perhaps unfairly hand picked. Like he’d said to the man, he didn’t really care, except he did a little bit, but reasoned that his logic of wanting Collins in the car was also not particularly fair.

“Relax mate, it’s New Year’s!” Keith said from the back seat. He knew Farrier, one had to if they were to fly side by side, and he knew the hard lines of the man’s face meant he was thinking about something he didn’t need to be. Farrier took a deep breath and tried to relax his shoulders before starting the engine.

“There she goes! Love that fucken car!” Turner yelled before whistling as the car in question drove out of the driveway and down the street. He got a honk in response from said car.

“Who on earth was that?” Wingnut asked, wondering how someone could yell something so loud so shamelessly.

“Ah, his name’s Turner, he’s a character,” Collins said vaguely. Wingnut decided he should befriend this man.

Everyone boarded the train, the entire carriage was taken up by the group which was quite nice, not to have to deal with feeling bad for any strangers dealing with the antics. Lucy got to know Stella and Tilly, while Wingnut and Collins got properly caught up on what they’d been up to lately. The train was full of the buzz of what was shaping up to be a good night. Once in London, the group was headed by Finn and a few others who had decided on where to go. Farrier and the other officers had already arrived and parked the car.

“It’ll be good, if you calm down,” Canfield murmured as they sat around the bar. Farrier had already started drinking, not for any reason other than it calmed his nerves, and he couldn’t switch off the part of his brain that was reminding him that Collins’ drink had been spiked once and that he wasn’t going to let it happen again. The main group began to filter in then from outside where it was cold and dark to inside where, even though the curtains were drawn tightly shut and were pinned together, there was a warm light and an atmosphere that one could almost forget war in. The fact that many of the fighter boys had chosen to keep their uniforms on however, ruined any chances of that happening in the name of finding women to dance with.

Collins had almost forgotten how much he enjoyed the sight of Farrier in casual clothes. He loved the man in uniform, but seeing the same clothes on somebody every day meant that when something was different it was enjoyed even more. especially when Farrier wore that button up shirt that he had on, the one that hugged his figure just a little tighter than the uniform.

The night progressed rapidly, Wingnut went off to the bar with Lucy almost immediately, and the girls went and got a table.

“Lucy seems very interesting,” Stella remarked.

“She does! Part of me thinks… Well, it must be fun to fly,” Tilly hummed.

“It would be, but dangerous,” Stella agreed. The noise was already picking up around them and the music was turned up to match.

Collins found Wingnut and Lucy at the bar along with Farrier and Keith.

“Getting intae it then?” Collins said, gesturing to Wingnut’s drink.

“Dance better with a bit, don’t we?” he smiled.

“Come on then, have a drink,” Lucy said. It didn’t take much for Collins to relent, he noticed Farrier watching as his pint was pulled. After getting to know Lucy more than he had before, the three went to dance. It had been a very long time since Collins had even wanted to, but somehow having Timson there made him feel comfortable, even if his attention was split between him and Lucy.

“Oh come on, let’s go!” Tilly said, pulling Stella’s arm as she saw them beginning to dance.

“I can’t be bothered Till!” Stella protested, but it didn’t work and they ended up on the dance floor anyway.

“God, every time I’ve seen him he’s dressed in some ghastly combination,” Tilly leant in and half yelled in Stella’s ear over the music and crowd, causing Stella to burst out laughing, knowing exactly who she was talking about. Collins in a roundabout way danced from Wingnut and Lucy over to the two girls,

“What ye laughing about then?”

“His fashion choices,” Stella replied frankly looking directly at Timson.

They danced for a while longer, and Collins hadn’t expected it, but he had actually gotten out of practice. It didn’t matter though, because the room was so full of people, everyone was more or less jumping up and down as a form of dancing anyway.

“Well I might go and see what the fuss is about,” Keith said to Farrier after a while of the two sitting and drinking at the bar. Farrier had never been one to dance, but he felt uncomfortable sitting alone at the bar. Where on earth was Canfield? That was when he spotted the man dancing along with everyone else. _Great_ , Farrier thought. Now he had nobody to mope around with. He was considering going to see if James was around, realising he hadn’t even checked in on him for months, when he saw Collins and Stella both go and sit down at a table together.

“She has so much energy,” Stella said of Tilly.

“Same with Wingnut, and Lucy apparently. Glad we’re normal,” he laughed.

“Ye know at the beginning of training myself, Wingnut and Dawson would go jogging together, try to get into better shape,” he said. It was the first time he’d tried to casually recount a positive memory of Dawson, there was still a harsh pang in his gut as he said it, though it was remedied when he looked up to see Farrier approaching them.

The night got rather messy after that. Not in a bad way of course, but mix a room of mainly under thirties with alcohol and it tended to get rather loud, and for once, the older officers joined in the fun instead of supervising.

“I’ll just walk back! Good for the joints, it is,” Canfield mumbled about not wanting to get into the car as Farrier worried he’d be sick.

“You’re not walking back to Gatwick in winter Canfield, that would literally take you till morning,” Farrier laughed. Internally he hoped the man took the train though, not his car. The night got later and later and most of the men still hadn’t stopped drinking, though Collins began to get a little worried because his vision and memory were becoming so impaired that he wasn’t able to carefully watch his drink to ensure they couldn’t be spiked, even though Farrier repeatedly told him over the night that he was watching it. The brunette was becoming a little unsteady himself.

“Aren’t you driving?” Tilly asked.

“Well, thought I could hop on the train with you lot and just come n’ get the bloody thing in the morning!” Farrier said, surprising the others at how tipsy he was.

The music died down much to the disappointment of everyone, and the bartender went to speak.

“Now we must thank you all so much for coming down here tonight, we hope you’ve had a truly memorable evening. Now, of course there won’t be any fireworks this year, no, but it is one minute to twelve now! Fifty nine!” he began counting down, and soon the entire room was counting down at the same time, Farrier vaguely noticing Wingnut and Turner having a contest to see who could yell it the loudest. Soon the whole room was counting down, Tilly and Stella got up to be in the group, Collins followed, and Farrier followed at a distance, seeing that Canfield was vaguely near Timson who the group of friends was undoubtedly making a b line for, he decided it wouldn’t be strange if he went over to them as well.

“Thirty nine!” the bartender said along with the rest of the room. Canfield grabbed Farrier’s arms and shook him in excitement, bringing a smile onto the brunette’s face.

“1940!” Canfield yelled.

“Not yet Michael, count down, c’mon!” Farrier yelled back over both the people counting around him and the music which had come back.

Lucy, Timson, Collins, Stella and Tilly were all in a group together counting down, and in that moment, they were unburdened. They weren’t weighed down by the war, by loss, they were counting down for the New Year and were bound in a circle of friendship.

“Twenty nine!”

The room was electric, Collins had never been out in an atmosphere so excited around the New Year, last year it had been interesting to see Stella and her band, and the fireworks, and before it New Year’s had been… Quiet, in Aviemore, small town as it was. This was something else.

“Nineteen!”

Everything was happening at once. Smiling faces all around, dim lights, music, friends. Farrier was enjoying seeing Canfield drunk, but even so he turned around to catch Collins’ eye, who was already looking at him. The countdown reached ten.

“Nine! Eight! Seven!”

Still Farrier and Collins held gaze, smiling, counting down, and nobody around them saw or cared.

“Six! Five! Four! Three! Two! One!”

The room erupted in cheering, arms flew up into the air, people embraced and in that moment, everyone was so happy and carefree. Farrier was pulled into a hug by someone, Collins was dragged into a group hug with his friends, and the night continued on, on into 1940.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all know I write ahead of where I upload and I got WHIPLASH when I read it was still 1939 when going back to edit. Time flies when ur having fun ig! I hope everyone enjoyed this almost angst free chapter, a rarity from moi.
> 
> [ my tumblr ](https://s-n-o-w-p-i-e-r-c-e-r.tumblr.com)   
>  [ afternoon pinboard ](https://pinterest.com.au/snovvpiercer/afternoon)
> 
> Until next chapter ❤️


	26. One Good New Year's Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone, sorry for taking a bit of a break! To be honest, I really lost motivation to keep writing and uploading, it just seemed as though I'd lost 100% of the audience I once had. However some very very kind people took time to comment and let me know that they do still read, and even if only one or two people are here, that's enough for me.
> 
> Oh, and happy new year!

In the end, everyone dispersed from the pub rather drunk and happy. Farrier refused to drive his car on account of not feeling stable enough so the officers and other pilots had to get on the train with the rest of them. Canfield did not bring up his dinner, to Farrier’s relief. Once they were all back in Gatwick town, a cold hand from Tilly grabbed Collins’.

“You don’t have to go back to the airbase if you don’t want to, you can stay over if it’s more comfortable.”

“Oh, that’s very kind of ye, but he’s there,” Collins murmured, looking at Farrier up ahead in the group, completely forgetting another important reason to stay on the base which was that he was going to be on duty tomorrow, like every other day.

“He can stay over too.”

“I.. He can?”

“Why not? We have a house full of empty beds,” Tilly smiled. She hadn’t gotten as drunk as a lot of the men had, and still had a level head.

Collins let the girls know he’d have to ask once they were all back in their beds rather than in a group on the street, so the two wandered off down the dark road to their house.

“I sort of hope they come over. It must be difficult living on an airbase with someone you love,” Stella said as she looked up at the stars peeking through the clouds above.

“Me too,” Tilly agreed.

“His bedroom was so cute,” Stella mumbled.

“Oh yeah?”

“Full of little things, didn’t you see? A dried thistle, a marble, drawing pencils,” Stella rambled quietly as Tilly smiled.

Farrier was honestly glad to get back to his own bed. The night had gone well, nothing bad had happened, and now it was 1940, but he just wanted to sleep. As soon as he reached for the door handle he heard someone walking quickly up the hall, Collins.

“Okay so,” the blonde breathed, stopping to inhale deeply, he’d clearly powerwalked from somewhere.

“Tilly said we can both sleep over at their house tonight,” he said eventually, very quietly.

“We’re on duty tomorrow at 0600, how are we going to do that? Wait, does she know?!” Farrier asked in a panicked whisper.

“Ye but it’s alright!”

“So Stella not only knows you’re not interested in women, but Tilly does as well. And not only that, but they actually know we’re.. A thing?” he asked.

“We aren’t ‘a thing’, we’re more than tha’,” Collins said, lazily smiling in his half drunken state. Farrier sighed.

“That we’re boyfriends?”

“Better.”

“So does Tilly like men?”

“Mm-mm,” Collins said in an attempt at a ‘no’.

Suddenly Farrier was realising all of these hints and cues he’d seen that otherwise his mind hadn’t seen as important at all.

“Are they…..?”

“Say it!” Collins smirked, touching Farrier’s arm lightly, the man tried not to flinch but he was worried; they were out in the hallway in sight. Not like they didn’t used to sit out there all the time, but it felt so exposed now.

“Girlfriends.” 

“See? Wasnae that hard!”

Farrier chuckled, but then contemplated the idea properly. These girls, like James, wouldn’t care.

“I dunno, get up earlier than we need to and sneak back in I guess,” Collins thought aloud about the schematics, still slightly wobbly on his feet.

Farrier bit his bottom lip as he contemplated. He sighed,

“Go grab your uniform, we’ll have to change there and come back in our blues,” he said.

Collins beamed and basically broke into his own room in a clatter and mad dash to get his uniform stuffed under his arm. Farrier chuckled at his excitement, but himself acted more calm, hoping not to wake anyone, though he gathered by how strong everyone smelt of alcohol that it wouldn’t be an issue. He went into his room and grabbed his uniform, having the sense to put it in a small suitcase. When he got out of his room he saw Collins already at the end of the hall, and the blonde began walking down the stairs once Farrier had seen him. They walked to Stella and Tilly’s house the entire way like this, several metres away from each other, far enough that one wouldn’t think they knew each other. Farrier hadn’t been to their house before, and was very curious to see what it was like. He didn’t go to many houses, he went to Canfield’s family’s homes in the holidays occasionally, but that was about it. As he walked, he thought about owning a house. Maybe part of him did want that, a house, somewhere to relax away from the military, maybe a garden, maybe a pet. He looked forwards to the blonde walking unsteadily up ahead. He wished it could happen. He didn’t see how it could. For the time being, he was happy seeing him every day, and Farrier refused to let himself think further than that. They walked down a few streets away from the airbase, and Collins went up to the door of one of the houses. It looked like the two on either side of it, but perhaps a little more rundown, it was hard to tell in blackout conditions. The blonde knocked and the two girls answered almost immediately, obviously having been waiting for it.

“I knew you would,” Stella said.

“And we’re _glad_ of it,” Tilly said, making sure she ruled out any confusion over Stella’s tone. The two quickly walked inside for fear of being seen and it reminded the girls that men couldn’t walk around arm in arm like women could. People noticed.

“So do you go back tomorrow?” Tilly asked, closing the door behind them. Collins held up his uniform in answer.

“Ah, so an early morning I assume?”

“Very,” Farrier laughed.

“Well, you just let yourselves out, no need to wake us,” she smiled.

“Mm so’re we in the room I stayed in?” Collins mumbled.

“If you want, but there’s a double bed in the other upstairs room,” Stella said.

“Oh. We’ll ‘ave tha’ one please.”

Farrier couldn’t help but smirk. He hadn’t seen Collins like this in a long while. It was also strange to be in a place, like James’ place that he didn’t have to hide himself.

“So you two don’t… Mind?” he asked. There was a confused silence before Tilly realised.

“Oh! What, mind that you two are a couple?” she asked, and turned to Stella trying not to giggle.

“Of course not. Not everyone is out to get us, you know. Some are, but actually, we’ve found some of our band members, heterosexual band members, they don’t even mind,” she said. Farrier thought then perhaps it was a problem with the older generations.

“Huh. Well, uh, good.”

He knew this wasn’t normal. He knew it was strange, and even stranger that Collins had managed to make friends with these girls. He followed them upstairs where the blonde had already wandered off to, and he felt grateful. He wondered if maybe, they could even relate to some of the struggles he had in regards to his sexuality. Maybe he could finally talk to people other than slimy James about it. They showed the men to the spare room in question and said goodnight and Happy New Year. Collins waltzed in and lay himself on the bed.

“1940!” he said.

“Indeed it is,” Farrier smiled, finding the heater to turn on and then beginning to undress. 

“Isn’t it too cold?” Collins asked.

“No, when there’s another person in bed with me I get very warm.”

Collins lips turned upwards at this and he made an effort to sit up properly and take his own clothes off. Farrier was watching him with that look in his eye again. That soft look, the one that meant he was taken off guard. The one that meant he was calm. The love look.

“Greas or-“ Collins began, before clapping a hand over his mouth.

“Fuck,” he murmured.

“It’s alright, pet. I told you, you can speak Gaelic to me,” Farrier smiled, walking over and getting under the covers, the blonde following suit.

“Why do I keep doing that with you?” he asked himself quietly. Farrier went quiet before he answered him.

“Because you love me.”

The next morning they woke bleary eyed to the alarm clock.

“0500 hours, c’mon,” Farrier said, waking Collins with kisses on his cheeks after leaning over to turn the lamp on.

“Just tell Canfield I ran away.”

“No.”

“Collins, come on, we need to get back,” Farrier said, grabbing the blonde’s shoulder with a strong hand to try and roll him over and at least get him closer to the side of the bed.

“Pet,” Farrier cooed, he knew Collins was awake and just being stubborn. He placed a soft kiss against his cheek, and then another on the man’s sensitive neck. He heard a gasp, and smiled knowing it had at least woken _part_ of him up. He continued to do this, and then the blonde turned around and kissed Farrier on the lips, surprising the man. He smirked and kissed back, rolling on top of Collins and felt the blonde sigh against his lips.

Their warm bodies fit together like it was meant to be, legs shifting between each other, stomachs flat together, and soon Farrier couldn’t help himself but to reach up and hold Collins’ arms down on either side of his head. Apparently the man beneath him enjoyed it because he arched his back and pushed himself into Farrier.

“Tuilleadh.”

He’d said it deliberately this time, the first time since he was a child he’d deliberately spoken something other than English to someone who wasn’t his parents. Farrier’s grip lessened,

“What does it mean?”

“More.”

It was a flurry of blankets and arms and suddenly Collins’ back was against Farrier’s front, and he could feel the man’s hard prick against his back as he kissed along his jaw. Then a hand was reaching around to his front and grabbing him, another hand wrapping around his face, fingers finding their way into his mouth, and then down, down between his arse cheeks. Farrier watched Collins’ cheeks redden in the dim light of the lamp. Needless to say both of them were very much awake.

They arrived back on base with time to spare, time enough that they both made it back up to their rooms to complete the illusion that they’d slept there that night. Collins had half a mind to go back to bed for a bit, though he was wide awake after the morning’s efforts.

Farrier had a thought that maybe New Year’s Day would bring with it an exception for the weather, and actually, as he stood on the front step with his coffee, it did. The sky was blue with a few wispy clouds floating through it. The air was crisp and cold, but there was something warm about the light. Maybe this war wouldn’t last long, he thought. Hoped.

He went back inside with a very cold nose and ears and sat down at the small kitchen table. He got to thinking of ways to solve the logistical nightmare of having a house-sized kitchen on an airbase that fed two squadrons plus all the ground crew that kept them flying. As Collins walked in the blonde’s eyes caught Farrier’s and they smirked at each other before going about their breakfasts. Farrier was glad that Collins was eating, it had scared him how his partner was dealing with grief when Dawson had been shot down.

“I’ll feed Parker,” Farrier said, letting Collins relax, who looked like he’d begun to feel sleepy again as he yawned and nodded. The dog was in the common room asleep, but Farrier bringing the food bag inside and shaking it sure woke him up, and soon enough he came trotting down the hallway to be fed.

The day began, and everything was back to how it was every day, save for a lot of the men looking somewhat more worse for wear than usual.

“Told ye I’d be banking on no sortie,” Turner groaned at Collins as he shielded his eyes from the morning light, nursing a hangover headache.

“Mm. Well, good luck with that,” Collins chuckled. 

To Turner’s relief, they did indeed sit around all day in the sun. It was a nice New Year’s, the dog and everyone else were outside playing football and trying to warm up, even though the sun was out it was far from warm.

“You should join,” Canfield said to Farrier, who was sitting on a chair against the wall watching them.

“Yeah, but I can’t be bothered,” he laughed. Canfield raised his eyebrows in agreement.

“Does look like a lot of effort,” he agreed.

There was a New Year’s feast that night for dinner, or there was an attempt at one, though without a big dining hall it was haphazardly spread across the two common rooms. It alerted Canfield to how desperate the situation was.

“I think I need to talk to someone about making a mess,” he said to Farrier.

“Messy boy.”

“No not me! A mess hall, goodness your sense of humour is ridiculous,” Canfield said, though he was smiling.

One good day, one day without any news of war, without an air raid siren, without a sortie, and everything almost felt like it was normal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like this is a pretty well rounded chapter tbh, next to no angst look at that! Again, thank you to literally anyone who has stuck around this far. I'm going to try and upload every second week like I was, except the day will change to Wednesday so it can be a mid week pick up to get us all through lol.
> 
> [ my tumblr ](https://s-n-o-w-p-i-e-r-c-e-r.tumblr.com)   
>  [ my Afternoon pinterest board ](https://pinterest.com.au/snovvpiercer/afternoon)
> 
> Until next chapter ❤️


	27. A Different Flavour of Flight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok... So I forgot I had decided Wednesday was the new upload day lmao. Happy Thursday, don't be surprised if I change it back to Monday so I don't forget each time.

It was only the second of January when more news arrived of workings in the war. Soviet forces were launching a major offensive against the Finns on the Karelian Isthmus. It didn’t mean much for 102 and 107, it didn’t directly affect them but war news was war news, and it never felt outright good. Even victories had that bittersweet feeling- at what cost had they come?

“Washington’s angry about the post again,” Corey mumbled as he sat in the common room with Collins and a few other stragglers.  
“Post? Again?”  
“Do you read the newspaper?”  
“Nae.”  
Corey then went on to explain in a mildly annoyed tone, that America was annoyed with Britain because they were checking mail on US and other neutral ships, and even censoring mail which was aboard ships which were, perhaps involuntarily in UK waters.   
“I mean, all in the name of safety right?” Collins said,  
“No you’re right, I think this is absolutely necessary, but yet Washington isn’t all pleased,” he said. Collins did sometimes wonder if he should perhaps pick up the newspaper one day. He didn’t pick one up that day, wagering that Farrier would probably read the paper for him and let him know of anything he really ought to know.  
Farrier managed to get by with two more full days before Canfield ordered him on leave.

  
“I can be useful around here, Michael! I’ll just fiddle with some engines, clean a few hangars,” he tried.  
“No, boy! You’ve eluded taking leave for far too long. You’ve gone and put yourself out of sync with your section now, Keith and Roberts took their leave like you should have, now what am I supposed to do? You lied to me when you said you’d leave the next morning when they did, and you just stayed lurking around here for me to discover you at midday blending in with the ground crew!” Canfield said.

  
He shouldn’t have, but Farrier began to chuckle. It was funny, in his eyes, that he had succeeded in hiding. Canfield began to laugh too. They laughed together for a while, Canfield sitting at his desk and Farrier half sitting on the corner of it.

  
“But really Tommy, please.”

  
So the next day after a morning hug from Collins, Farrier finally took two days’ of leave. Tilly had mentioned he could stay at their house, and while he didn’t feel like he knew them well enough to, he didn’t want to be rude so he made his arrangements, and was shown the same room Collins had been. Perhaps stupidly, Farrier had driven his car all of two minutes from the base to their house. What if he wanted it? If Canfield saw him coming to get it he’d think Farrier was trying to sneak back.

  
“No, there’s nothing to clean or fix!” Tilly laughed at the question she’d been asked.

  
“If you want to keep busy why don’t you just do some reading or go and wander around in the big smog or something?” she asked.

  
“I suppose I could,” Farrier muttered. Stella smirked and shook her head from where she was listening in on the conversation.

Collins knew it was for the best, Farrier would never rest unless forced to, but sometimes he needed to be forced to. Collins made do hanging about with his squadron and Parker, and acted like nothing was different, because he had to. He was glad that Farrier was out of the firing line, even just for two days. He wished the man could take longer off, even if it meant not seeing him as much. Still, he was glad that at least Farrier was staying with the girls rather than in a dingy old hotel somewhere.

  
On the first night of his leave Farrier decided he had to go and see James. Stella and Tilly were curious as to where he was going but the man seemed to get away with a mumbled dinner excuse. He drove into London, only then really getting a scale of how the blackout felt. The street lamps all had covers on them and they were barely brighter than candles, and he’d had to purchase covers for his car’s headlights as well, which he was using for the first time now. It reminded him of when he’d tried to see how far north he could fly and ended up getting beaten by the sunset on his way back to Gatwick. He shook his head at the stupidity, if his affections for Collins had made him try to get to Scotland that day, how much worse would it be if they ever flew together?

  
Little did he know that as he drove to see his old friend, Collins was having a late night talk with Canfield. He had never really spoken to the man on any deeper level than his superior, perhaps a casual and friendly one but superior nonetheless. Everyone had gone to bed except them, Collins had planned to stay up a little and sit in the common room next to the heater with Parker for a while, but when Canfield saw the blonde looking lonely he decided against his better judgement that he should join him. He was no specialist in issues with the mind, but he knew that the lad could do with a talking to.   
“Well, I hope you’ve not been dwelling on anything,” Canfield said as they sat in the dim orange light, Collins slightly disappointed that he couldn’t have the blinds open to see outside into the night, lest he let any light out.  
“I’m trying not to. Keeping busy helps,” he said, reaching down to pat Parker. The dog really had been a godsend, without Parker Collins wasn’t sure how he’d feel. He was giving him a goal, he had an obligation to the dog, to feed him, exercise him, keep him happy and trained, and it was serving to better Collins as he went about his days too.

  
“It does, it does help. Though don’t keep too busy or you’ll get in the rut of never stopping!” the older man laughed.

  
“Like Farrier, I know.”

  
“He makes it quite obvious, doesn’t he?” Canfield laughed.

  
“Caught him askin’ one of the fitters if he needed help changing some engine oil the other day,” Collins smiled.

It did amuse him, that Farrier tried to be the jack of all trades, and to the man’s credit he was actually handy in the shed, so Collins couldn’t fault him for trying.

  
“Unsurprising,” Canfield said.

  
The blonde was still slightly on edge, especially now that they were talking about Farrier. He was worried that Canfield was going to bring something up about them, something that Collins was almost completely sure the old man had no idea about, but still the thought lingered in the back of his mind as he watched Canfield think of what next to say. 

“Does flying in your squadron do well for you?” 

  
“I mean, yeah? Flying is great, it’s why I’m here, I- I donnae think I’d be very good on the ground, plus I’ve got no idea about engineering or mechanics, can barely change a bicycle whe-“

  
“I wasn’t implying anything of the sort lad,” Canfield began to chuckle. Collins relaxed a little and forced a smile. Maybe he should stop being so uptight around the old man. 

  
“I meant do you get along with them all?” Canfield asked in a much softer voice.

  
“Guess so.”

  
Canfield pursed his lips.

  
“Do you dislike anyone then?”

  
“Oh, no not at all. I think I’m just too quiet to get tae know them all properly. Corey’s nice, Turner’s a hoot, Davis, well I think he’s a great man. Cannae say I know the others all that well,” Collins said honestly. He knew the key to a squadron was relying on everyone, and knowing everyone. He felt like a weak link.

  
“Do you know the men in 107 well?”

Farrier pulled up to the alley that housed James’ establishment, and found it easier than usual to slip inside in the dark. He went downstairs, and as soon as he entered the waiting room he could see James at the desk, bereft of a waft of smoke in front of him.

  
“Good evening, old friend,” Farrier smiled.

  
“Good god, is that you Tom?”

  
“Yes James, how’ve you been?” Farrier smiled, walking up to the desk and leaning an arm on it. James looked much more uptight than usual, probably because he wasn’t currently smoking. 

  
“No word? I thought you were bloody dead, you imbecile! Could have let your old friend know that Jerry didn’t shoot you down!” he said with more vigor in his voice than Farrier had ever heard before. In that moment Farrier really did feel awful, he hadn’t even thought to check in.

  
“James… I’m sorry, okay? I am. I just honestly… Forgot that I’m in a position now that I need to, well, let people know I’m still alive.”

  
“It’s alright, you’re here now, boy. But by god, you’re thick sometimes!” James laughed, lightening the mood. 

  
“So you’re not smoking?”

  
“Tariffs, expensive now Tommy, thought you’d know!”

  
“I actually don’t smoke as much as you seem to think I do,” Farrier shook his head smiling. 

  
“Anyway, I assume you aren’t here for a… Hold on, Tommy your boy isn’t… Is he…?” James stuttered, realising maybe the man was here to drown his sorrows.

  
“Oh, he’s fine. Well, he’s alright, he’s alright,” Farrier reassured James.

  
“Thank goodness, had the best form I’ve seen in a long time.”

  
“Can you not perve for once?” Farrier chuckled.

After Parker had decided to chase the football under several small tables, Canfield continued his conversation.

  
“Well, I’ve been talking to Davis, and we both agree on this, but I won’t force it on you, this isn’t an order, you understand,” Canfield said.

Collins was very nervous now, he sat there staring into Canfield’s eyes as the man continued.

  
“We want to try you on Spits.”

  
The blonde was speechless for several moments before he tried to form words.

  
“I… Ye want me to-“

  
“We were thinking of rotating you in with Blue Section in 102, but actually Davis pitched the idea to me. Your flying style might be suited to a different plane, and that’s what it comes down to. A different flavour of flight.”

Farrier didn’t stay for long that night, he had no reason to. He had gone down with the intention of saying hello and talking to James about how everything was, and he’d done that. Apparently business was booming, what with the streets being much darker and easier to creep about in. Farrier arrived back in Gatwick and almost drove to the airbase out of muscle memory, before realising he was essentially barred from entry by Canfield for the next twenty-four hours. Surprisingly both girls were still awake when he walked inside.

  
“We got a letter from Charlie!” Stella said, waving a piece of paper in the air.

  
“Good news?” Farrier asked immediately.

  
“Well, he wrote it, so he’s okay that means!” she replied before turning back to read it. The man took the opportunity to go back upstairs and get some sleep.

“You don’t have to decide now. But, both squadrons have reserves, it would be an easy swap. You would get to know a new group of men and a new plane,” Canfield said.

Collins knew he should think about it, knew he should wait until Farrier had come back from leave and consult him. He was about to outright give yes as his answer, but something stayed his words. This was serious. This was a huge change, and maybe sleeping on it actually was the best idea. Maybe even talking about it with his own squadron mates, possibly even with 107.

  
“I don’t know.”

  
“And that’s what’s expected, lad. Sleep on it, get back to me when you’re sure of your answer, alright? Because this isn’t something we can do willy nilly, the Ministry wouldn’t take kindly if we swapped you to 107 and then you decided you didn’t like it.

  
“Alright, well can I try and fly a Spitfire before I decide?” Collins asked.

  
“Well of course you can, my boy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Facts: The Soviets did launch an offensive against the Finns on the 2nd, and the US did get annoyed at Britain lol.
> 
> I hope everyone liked this chapter! It's a bit slower, but the wheels have been set in motion for the fateful day over Dunkirk where the flyboys take to the skies together in Spits now.
> 
> [ afternoon pinboard ](https://pinterest.com.au/snovvpiercer/afternoon)   
>  [ my tumblr ](https://s-n-o-w-p-i-e-r-c-e-r.tumblr.com)
> 
> I really want to thank everyone who took time to comment, even if they usually don't, just to let me know they're still here. It gave me the push I needed. 
> 
> Until next chapter everyone ❤️


	28. Like Flying Without Wings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wednesday upload attempt number two?? Is this even the right week? I have no idea but here is a chapter which I am very proud of.

Farrier was bored for most of his second day of leave, though he wagered it was better than being bored whilst waiting for a possible sortie. He was attempting to relax sitting outside on the little ornate metal chairs at the little garden table in the backyard. He wasn’t sure how much he was succeeding, considering he could hear a Merlin engine in the distance. He wanted to know why only one, and was trying to tell himself to stop craning his neck to try and find a plane in the sky.

As it were, it was Collins, and he was specifically in Farrier’s Spitfire. _R9612._ It had just come back from the workshop, so the ground crew gathered it was technically in the best condition of the lot. The take off had been similar to that of a Hurricane, although the feeling in the blonde’s gut hadn’t been. This was the prized fighter. This was a plane that Farrier himself had described as hard to fly, and even harder to land. This was the fastest fighter in the entire British fighter fleet, and supposedly it could outfly Germany’s fastest fighter. He reminded himself that he needed to be focusing. The cockpit was the same but also different. It was impossibly more cramped, but the instruments were more or less in the same places. The nose was higher in the air like Farrier had described, and Collins had never been more thankful for the ground crew. Up in the air, if he stopped freaking out about what plane he was in, it was almost the same as a Hurricane, looking out at the wings, they were a different shape, looking up through the rounded Perspex canopy instead of a straight one, and somehow because of the different nose, the engine had a slightly different sound. It was still loud in his ears and it roared with power, but where the Hurricane made the Merlin sound deep and grumbling, the Spitfire somehow made it sound more sweet. The difference was the _feeling_. The controls were so light, Collins felt like he was barely moving them but the Spitfire soared in any direction he wanted. It was like flying without wings, he only had to breathe on the controls to fly. This was what freedom felt like.

“Is that one of our planes?” Stella asked worriedly, walking out into the cold garden with a cup of tea for the man.

“Yeah it is, don’t worry love,” Farrier asked.

Farrier sighed with a smile on is face before answering.

“When you’re a pilot, you can’t just _be_ inside when there’s a plane flying about. Especially if you know that’s a plane from your own airbase. It’s an addiction, it’s a passion, as close as you can get to that plane, you will. So I’m sitting in the cold so I can listen, hear where it might be heading, hear what it might be doing.”

“What plane is it?” Stella asked.

“Spitfire.”

It humbled the woman to hear Farrier speak with such happiness in his voice, and such peace. She could tell that he loved flying, even under the years of stress he’d clearly endured because of his job, at the core was a passionate love for being a pilot. He sat outside with his cup of tea as he listened to the plane drone further away and then nearer, and then further again. It sounded like someone was just flying around, so Farrier eventually guessed that it must be some sort of training.

In a way, it was. Collins felt somehow more at home in this plane. It wasn’t just that he knew it was Farrier’s, it was because somehow in a way that didn’t make sense, he didn’t have to think as much flying this Spitfire compared to the Hurricane. It just _did_ as he wanted, it almost felt like _it_ was thinking. There was no thought process involved in regards to how much rudder, how much stick, because it was as if the lightest feather touch did what he wanted. After about forty minutes of Collins learning the ins and outs, trying basic manoeuvres in the Spit, it came time for the most difficult part; landing her. The blonde was in radio communications with the base, not that he needed to be, nobody else was flying. They couldn’t do much to direct him except let him know it was alright to take a few tries as Canfield was making it blatantly obvious as his voice droned through Collins’ headgear. The blonde had half a mind to turn his radio off, but he didn’t need to break protocol in front of the entire airbase. Farrier had always said Spits should be handled with such care on the ground that Collins was over nervous. There was nothing for it but to go for it, and so he rounded himself up over the fields and began to drop the throttle and adjust propeller pitch. Once the plane was low enough, Collins grabbed the landing gear handle and moved it forwards in its gate. He heard the clunk of the wheels coming down, though it took him a second to realise that they had just come down from the wings, rather than out from the underbelly as they did on Hurricanes. His eyes scanned the landing strip, making sure nobody was in the way, checking for signals from ground crew, and off to the side below him his eyes caught a glimpse of the tree. _That_ tree. It jolted something in Collins’ mind, threw him off, and suddenly he wasn’t ready to land, he didn’t think he’d lined up at the right angle but the tarmac was fast approaching. The Spitfire was so fast, it wasn’t bleeding speed as much as the slower, heavier Hurricane did, even with the landing flaps down on the wings. The main building at the end of the tarmac was approaching far too fast for Collins’ liking so at the last minute he jerked the control stick back towards him and sent the Spitfire hurtling over the top of the building out over the streets of Gatwick.

That was when Farrier caught the glimpse of the plane from where he was sat in the garden. It had its landing gear down which was the first red flag, though soon Farrier realised that it wasn’t just flying with the undercarriage down, it was turning to attempt a landing. He wasn’t sure why the plane was acting like this, why it was acting like someone inexperienced was flying it. Unless… Farrier then remembered one of Canfield’s ramblings. He’d mentioned Davis talking to him about Collins swapping. No.

“Can’t even have a day off even when I actually try,” Farrier muttered to himself, sculling the tea and walking inside, planning to go back to the base early, just for a 'visit'.

‘Where on earth are you storming off to?” Tilly asked as Farrier walked through the kitchen where she was in the middle of making biscuits.

“Airbase. I think Collins is in a Spit.”

“And?”

“And he’s never done that before!” Farrier said with a breathy voice, trying not to stop walking as he said it.

“You can’t, what will the others think?” Tilly asked, wiping her hands on a tea towel.

Second attempt at a landing. Collins had never done such an evasive manoeuvre in a plane, it had scared him. _Fly smart_ , he repeated to himself. This time, he took a much shallower path and got down as low as he could, and much further away than before. The landing flaps went down again and Collins checked that the wheels had remained down. This felt better. It was a good thing he spent so much of his time talking to Farrier about planes, or else he wouldn’t have known the little nuances Spitfires had, the differences in behaviour. It wasn’t like anyone really had given him a rundown, they’d just told him to go and have a try. The blonde tried to relax back into the seat and thought in some impossible way, if this plane brought Farrier home every time, it would land him safely. Telling himself that to try and negate the fact that it was him in control, that maybe if he told himself it was out of his hands, he’d be safe. The last thing Collins did in the air was gently push the nose into the air a tiny bit, just lifting her enough that the forwards momentum wouldn’t send the plane over. And then he’d landed.

“You have to stay here. What would you say? ‘Oh, I thought Collins was in a Spitfire, so I came back to make sure my darling was alright’?” Tilly said in a matter of fact way. She was right of course, Canfield certainly wouldn’t have thought very highly of Farrier waltzing back in to see how things were because a pilot was trying a new plane. He sighed.

“Alright.”

Collins could see nothing over the nose as soon as the back wheel touched down, and was forced to do what he always saw 107 doing, snaking left and right up the runway. It was strange, because it almost felt like some sort of right of passage. This was how Spitfire pilots landed.

He’d done it. He’d landed a Spitfire. He’d landed Farrier’s, of all planes. And it only took two attempts. Collins followed the ground crew on either side of the plane as they directed him to the end of the runway and he finally turned the engine off. He pushed the canopy back, and saw that everyone was watching him from the end of the building now. And when he took his headgear off, he could hear faintly that they were… Clapping?

“Gee whizz!” Corey said to Davis, who nodded and smiled. They hadn’t expected Collins to be able to fly that well, and they were over the moon that he hadn’t crash landed after the first attempt which left their hearts in their mouths.

“Guess he’s going then,” Turner said to Davis with more emotion in his voice than usual.

“It’s up for him to decide,” the lead flyer replied. In all actuality, Davis really didn’t want Collins to leave his squadron, the boy had talent and he had the sparkle in his eye that Davis had come to know being surrounded by strong flyers. He had that something.

“How do you even know it was him?” Stella asked as the three sat around the dinner table.

“I don’t, not for certain. His squadron’s lead flyer had been talking to the Winco. Said that maybe it would help Collins to switch squadrons. Get him out of the rut,” Farrier said between mouthfuls.

“Did the plane just look like a training pilot then?” Tilly asked.

“I think so, I didn’t see it except for one low pass it did over the streets, and the undercarriage was down. I don’t think any of mine would’ve done that. The only reason it would have been down and the thing to be on this side of the airbase is if whoever was flying it took a punt at the runway and then decided last minute that he wasn’t going to land well. Would’ve flown over the building,” he explained. The girls seemed positively fascinated hearing about the reasons.

“I just have a hunch, alright?” he said.

“Hunch is as good a reason as any,” Tilly said.

“Well it’s good you didn’t go, you wouldn’t have known what to say,” Stella said.

“No, I would’ve probably just been sent right back by Canfield, he had to order me to take leave in the first place because I just… Didn’t go myself,” he chuckled.

“Why not?” Stella asked.

“Ah, this and that. Things needed doing, I like being on the airbase. Like I was saying before, it’s comforting to be amongst the planes and to know what’s going on.”

“You need to think long and hard about this decision, you know,” Davis said to Collins as they sat in the common room. The blonde hadn’t been going back to his room as early now that going back up there didn’t mean seeing Farrier since he was on leave. He was finding out that there were interesting conversations to be had after dark with the others too.

“I will. It’s not something I’d take lightly. This squadron is… Well, it’s my squadron, ye know?” he said quietly.

“Of course. It’s not easy moving, and many pilots aren’t asked to do it at all.”

“Did you ever have to?”

“Yeah. Changing locations means changing squadrons, and I’m from the coast.”

“Huh, dinnae know that,” Collins said.

“There had never been a reason to tell,” Davis replied.

“Do ye think… Do you… Think that _he_ would be okay with me changing squadrons?” Collins asked slowly. The look in his eyes told Davis who he was talking about. The boy still wasn't over the loss of his wingmate, Dawson.

“Collins. You can’t be thinking that way. This is about you. This is about your journey with the RAF, this is about where you feel most comfortable,” Davis reassured him, placing a hand briefly on his knee. After a few moment’s silence, Davis spoke again.

“I think he’d be okay with whatever you do, because he’d know you chose for the right reasons.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for reading, and thank you to everyone who left a kudos or comment recently, I read every single one of your comments and try to reply to them all, and I see every kudos because I am tragic and have email notifications on for them lol. Anyway I hope everyone liked this chapter.
> 
> [ my tumblr ](https://s-n-o-w-p-i-e-r-c-e-r.tumblr.com)   
>  [ afternoon pinboard ](https://pinterest.com.au/snovvpiercer/afternoon)
> 
> Until next chapter ❤️


	29. A Spot of Bad Weather

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's Thursday morning where I am. Upload Wednesday is seriously doing my head in and I can't remember why I ever changed it?? If I forget again next time it'll probably go back to Monday lmao
> 
> anyway enjoy this chapter !!

Farrier came back to Gatwick to find out that the British minister of war had changed. The new man was called Oliver Stanley, and though it didn’t mean a great deal to Farrier, it was interesting nonetheless. At least it wasn’t more bad news.

The next day, finally, the Finns scored a major victory against Russia, wiping out the entire 44th division. It was strange for the young men to read about it in the newspaper, to hear about it on the radio. Numbers and names couldn’t really sink in, it didn’t sound altogether real.

“Yeah, I think unless you witness it, or you are personally connected, it just doesn’t…” Farrier began, as they all sat in the common room of 107.

“Hit?” Turner said, the officer nodded.

Collins had been thinking a lot lately about changing squadrons. He had taken on board what Davis had said, but he also knew he really did need to talk to Farrier about it. Part of him was terrified of doing it. 102 was his squadron, he’d designed the bloody crest for it, if that didn’t make it his squadron nothing would. Hurricanes were easy enough to fly, certainly not as touchy as the Spitfire had been. Plus, even if he didn’t know them all incredibly well, the men of 102 were reliable people. Collins knew their flying styles, knew how he fit into the squadron. Moving would mean all of that would disappear. It would also mean he would deliberately make a change that went against something Farrier very clearly outlined he never wanted to happen. And Farrier apparently didn’t seem to have much jurisdiction over the matter, it was up to Canfield the senior officer at Gatwick, and Collins.

That day as it so happened, Collins’ section was sent over. It was almost beginning to feel like a routine, flying out and seeing the Jurassic Coast, seeing the waves, seeing the European mainland. It had been a while since they’d stopped in Reims, it would almost be nice to go back, although there would still be that nagging thought in the back of their minds that the airbase might get strafed by Germans while they were filling up. Not that it had happened yet, or even come close to happening. As Farrier watched Collins gear up on the tarmac and stand with 102 listening to Davis give a quick debriefing, the blonde looked over to him. There was that look in his eye again, and Farrier had realised only after a few times of seeing that look that it was slightly different to the awful, haunted look that he’d seen a handful of times on his partner’s face, no. This was his look of determination. This was what Collins looked like when he had his mind set to the flight, he was confident he would return home, this was his look of knowing he was in control.

Farrier had, of course, had his suspicions confirmed of who was flying around in a lone Spitfire above the town as soon as he’d gotten back from leave. Canfield couldn’t wait to tell him in fact, that “young Collins” had done exceedingly well flying Britain’s prized fighter. It scared Farrier more than it should have. He was scared that if Collins was put in his squadron, apart from everything he’d already vented to the blonde that he’d be worried about regarding them flying in the air _together,_ that the blonde wouldn’t have that look in his eye. He would be handicapped, put back several months because he had trained to be placed on Hurricanes, he was put in 102 because his flying style suited the plane and suited the men who joined him in the air. If he joined 107 he would have to begin again, and that was exceedingly dangerous in a time when being set back months in ability could kill you.

The difference with today’s flight was that Collins was in control. It was that which stopped him from being completely focused on his own plane as they flew which he knew was bad, but he’d also expected it. He had to decide how high or low they flew, he had to decide what they did. He was responsible if one went down. _Nae yer not,_ he told himself, but yet there was the creeping thought. Flak appeared in the air around them almost out of nowhere. It was so hard to tell when it was coming, and nobody had pinpointed where exactly the Germans had dug their AA guns in yet, so it was never exactly expected. The blonde was waiting for Davis to say something for a beat before he realised.

“Angels two-zero!” he said with as calm a voice as he could muster over the radio. It was a unique sort of satisfaction to see the two planes to his sides follow him as he gained altitude, because of an instruction he’d given. Thankfully, the flak let off.

“Good call, captain!” Turner said, and Collins could hear the smile. It was contagious, and he let a little one creep onto his face. Luckily, the rest of the flight was fine, mainly due to the fact that Collins refused to let them fly down low again.

The section returned in the late hours of the afternoon to report that they had run into flak, but that nobody was hit. For the first time since the blonde had lost his wingmate, Farrier didn’t think he looked as shaken by the events. He hated that perhaps part of him was getting used to it, but it was necessary. He was proud of Collins for leading the flight, and that night, the two got talking.

“So… Your gut instinct is what then?” Farrier asked.

“I don’t have one, Farrier. I’m torn between my options.”

Farrier stayed quiet for a bit, he didn’t want to push Collins one way or the other, but he hoped the blonde would make up his own mind to stay on Hurricanes.

“You know, I’m very proud of you, pet.”

“What for?” 

“For today. You led a section! It isn’t easy, especially not the first time,” Farrier said, reaching out and touching Collins’ arm as they sat next to each other on the brunette’s bed. Collins smiled down to himself,

“Thank you.”

Farrier wanted an answer from Collins about the possible change of squadrons, but he knew if he pushed it wouldn’t happen, so he dropped the topic.

“Look. Of course part of me wants to fly Spits, _of course._ But, I remember what ye said, I know how ye feel. And… I agree,” Collins said.

“You agree?”

“Mm. I guess… I guess seeing how I reacted in the air when Dawson… I suppose I’d do something stupid again if it was you.”

Farrier pursed his lips. It was difficult and stupid and maybe they should never have become so closely entwined but it was too late now, he’d learnt that.

“Collins, as much as I agree with that… If you want to transfer, you should. Davis and Canfield think your flying is suited to another plane, and you admitted that you enjoyed flying it. There would be upsides, too. I wouldn’t be waiting on the ground frantically counting for twelve planes every time your squadron came back because, well, you’d be in the air with me.”

Collins was touched at this, he’d assumed Farrier didn’t like it when Collins was out on a sortie just the same as he didn’t like it when the brunette was, but Farrier had never really detailed it like that. Collins didn’t know he counted the planes every time. He smiled a little sweet smile as he felt Farrier’s warm arm curl around his shoulders and the man’s head rest on his.

“I did like the Spitfire. “

“Hard not to, pet. Thing is, it isn’t just about that. You’ll need to get used to a new bunch of mops, and you’ll need to say goodbye to 102 as your squadron, and I know that’ll be strange, it’s your insignia after all,” Farrier said quietly.

“And Dawson’s.”

“Yes. In the end, you need to make the decision, but I guess what I’m trying to say is don’t let all of what I’ve said in the past sway your mind. This is about you, your relationship with your squadron, and what you feel most comfortable flying. It can’t be about me, not this time,” Farrier said as Collins began to fiddle with his fingers as they laced together with the blonde’s.

He moved his head from where it rested against Collins’ and leaned forwards slightly to catch his eye. The blonde held a look of deep thought, Farrier could tell he was weighing up his options in his head. His baby blue eyes shifted to look at him then, and quite by surprise Farrier found himself in a kiss. He made a muffled noise in the back of his throat before telling himself to shut up and enjoy it. Moments like these were far and few now. They kissed silently, Farrier’s arm still curled around Collins’ shoulders, Collins’ hand still holding his.

The silence was deafening around them and Farrier was hyper aware of it, he always seemed to be more so than Collins, who had all but forgotten about the conversation from what Farrier could deduce as the blonde pushed himself up and into Farrier’s lap. The two fell back down onto the bed, and it wasn’t long before Farrier had rolled over and was lying on top of Collins, trying and failing to shush the blonde’s deep breaths by pressing their lips together.

It felt like it had both been a long time and barely any time since they’d been intimate. Collins knew which of those it was- it had been in Stella and Tilly’s house in the morning after they’d slept there on New Year’s, only a week ago. He counted himself lucky then after that mental calculation he did mid kiss, that they even had opportunities at all. He was well aware that they usually waited for bad weather and that there was none tonight, but sometimes he couldn’t help it. Especially when he’d made up his mind about the squadron issue which had been stressing him out ever since it was pitched to him by Canfield.

Farrier’s body was so warm on top of Collins’, pressed together they were and for the longest time, neither made a move to take things any further, they just enjoyed each other. After some time, Collins was the one to initiate something more, again surprising the brunette when lithe fingers made their way down past his waistband earning a gasp from him and a smirk from Collins. Farrier had missed that look. The one that said he knew what he was doing, it was rare and the brunette had to stop and look at it for a beat before his mind caught up to the fact that Collins was wrapping his hand around his length inside his boxers.

For the first time since the war had begun, Collins fell asleep in Farrier’s bed that night. They woke together to Farrier’s alarm clock in shock at what had happened.

“I donnae remember falling asleep in here,” Collins said with a smile, anticipating the fact that Farrier would be more stressed than him about it.

“I don’t either, but here we are,” the man said, already trying to sit up. Collins nuzzled against his cheek before looking at him with sleepy eyes,

“Don’t stress out. I’m getting up and going back, it’s fine.”

Farrier smiled a little at this, and the blonde rolled out of his bed. Collins stretched and walked over to the window, opening the curtains a tiny bit allowing a strip of morning light to stream in. His blue eyes lit up as he looked outside, causing Farrier to sit up and try to crane his neck to see out the window himself.

“What is it, pet?”

“It snowed last night!”

That was enough to get Farrier out of bed. He went to stand behind Collins, an arm wrapping around his body and pulling him back against him as they looked out the sliver of window between the curtains. Everything was white, except for little black footprints over the tarmac of those early risers of the ground crew who were up and about already.

“I missed snow,” Collins murmured, earning him a kiss on the shoulder.

“Go on then,” Farrier smiled. That was all the encouragement Collins needed to dress, hop to Farrier’s door, check the coast was clear and pop into his own room. Farrier smiled, he hoped Collins never lost that childlike wonder. He began to dress as well, and after looking out the window for a few beats more, he went downstairs to have some food.

It was as Collins was halfway down the stairs putting his flying gauntlets on to make snowballs with that it hit him in the stomach. He wished Dawson was there. He stopped walking and held the wooden handrail as he tried to gather his thoughts. He didn’t get much of an opportunity before he could hear talking in the distance downstairs, breaking the silent bubble he’d found himself in. The blonde tried to block the thought and think instead about who else would be downstairs that would like the snow. He was sure Corey and Turner wouldn’t mind a snowball fight, maybe even Davis. Collins couldn’t wait to see what Parker thought of it all.

As it turned out, Parker didn’t seem to mind at all that his paws got cold and wet in the snow, it was much too fun to care about such things. He, Collins, Corey, Riley, Turner and several other men got into quite the pre breakfast snowball fight in the field.

“Probably best to let them get that energy out. No different to toddlers is it!” Canfield laughed with Farrier, the brunette agreed as he stood with his mug of coffee in hand.

“Listened to the radio yet, lad?” Canfield asked.

“Not today, no.”

“Britain’s on food rations now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank u all for reading, I appreciate every one of you! I thought this chapter was a sweet one, but sorry to leave it on a bit of a cliffhanger!  
> [ my tumblr ](https://s-n-o-w-p-i-e-r-c-e-r.tumblr.com)  
> [ afternoon pinboard ](https://pinterest.com.au/snovvpiercer/afternoon) (I'm curious- who's gone and checked this out??)
> 
> Until next chapter ❤️


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